Of Knights And Thieves
by thesewingscanfly
Summary: If Arthur is to secure a treaty with Mercia, he and his men will first have to bring a band of outlaws - lead by the infamous Robin Hood - to justice. But not all is as it seems. Enemies of the past rise to unite with new enemies, and grudges are never forgotten.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Relief comes when the forest leaves filter the high noon sun, sparing the men of Camelot from further being baked within their own chainmail. It had been a quiet morning. The unrelenting heat had silenced even the most boisterous of the knights. But beneath the shelter of the trees, only soft rays of light shower down upon them now, and Gwaine is the first to find his voice. He jumps into the story of how he once became a famous town minstrel without singing a single note. Quite a feat, if he does say so himself. The others pay him no attention, of course, except for Elyan who nods politely to show he's listening. Leon presses a damp cloth to the bridge of his nose which was raw and red from the harsh summer flares. And in the back of the group, Percival sits tall in his saddle. Face tilted toward the sky and his eyes closed; either trying to rest or – more likely – trying to block out Gwaine's voice.

As always, Arthur rides ahead with Merlin lagging a few feet behind. Merlin, perfectly comfortable in his lightweight linen tunic, takes in the splendor of the surrounding woods. He has seen his fair share of forests, but there is something different about these. It boasts a certain vibrancy that the stench of his clammy comrades cannot diminish. Even the air itself is full of wonder and life.

A cool breeze rolls across their path, sending loose leaves tumbling and drawing various praises from the armor-clad men. But it only brings about confusion for Merlin. He glances up at the sun then to the shadows around them before urging his horse forward. He falls into stride beside Arthur.

"We're heading south." Merlin attempts to keep his tone casual, but by the look he receives from Arthur, he knows he was unsuccessful.

"Merlin, I am going to assume you don't think I'm a complete idiot-"

"Well..."

"-and that you are pointing out the obvious because you have a problem with it." Arthur uses a spare rag to wipe his face free from sweat, "Go on then, what is it?"

"What is what?" Merlin straightens his back. "You assume I have a problem. I have no problem. And certainly not with going south. In fact, I think the south has a view that is particularly lovely this time of year. That's why I was pointing it out."

Arthur raises an eyebrow and throws the dirty cloth at Merlin, who makes a failed attempt at batting it away. The salty, damp swatch hits his face before falling into his lap. He wipes a hand over his mouth with a grimace, slumping back into his original posture, "We spent a full day riding north, and now that we're heading south it just seems like we may be-"

"Backtracking?" Arthur offers. "We're not. I wanted to enter Nottingham from the north so that we might be able to see a good amount of Sherwood Forest on the way." He nods his head to the trees around them.

"You...wanted to take the scenic route," Merlin nods, pretending to understand. He looks back to exchange amused glances with the knights, who are now listening. He smiles, "Becoming more in touch with your sensitive side, are you?"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"No, it's refreshing. Appreciating nature's beauty..."

"Merlin," Arthur warns.

"Embrace it, sire. This is a rare side of you we don't get to see very often. You know, maybe we could stop by the daisy fields on the way home." He jerks a thumb in its direction. "I hear they're in full bloom right now."

Arthur laughs, but it is not a comforting laugh. Not to Merlin. No, it is one to be followed with retribution, and that is always an unnerving prospect. He turns to Merlin, "You know, sometimes I think it is better to keep you uninformed about our expeditions. _Maybe then he won't spoil anything_, I think. _How could he? __All he has to do is follow along._ But then you, being you, always manage to find a way. Questioning me on this or on that, challenging my decisions, suspecting I haven't thought everything through, the list goes on..."

"Does it?" Merlin adjusts his grip on the reins, glancing back at the knights this time with growing nerves.

"...thinking the worst, finding something to complain about, belittling my manhood. All because you don't know the plan." The king snaps his fingers. Pointing at Merlin, his voice raising in pitch, "And assuming I would want to go frolic in daisies with you!"

"I never said we had to _frolic_-"

"Would you like the truth of it all?"

"I always prefer the truth, yes."

"There are bandits in these woods," says Arthur, his eyes fixed on Merlin with a notable spark of mischief. Merlin can feel the blood drain from his cheeks, which his master must have noticed because a small grin of satisfaction forms on Arthur's lips. The forest around them suddenly holds an all new interest, or more accurately a threat, that Merlin must inspect. He scans the nearby landscape, but with hundreds of trees, there is no telling what all hides amongst them.

"Ah, that's better. I do love the sound of your silence." Arthur holds up a hand to signal his men to stop. He turns his horse to face them. "There is more to this peace treaty than a mere signature. The Steward, Lord Vaisey, has called on me for help. Bandits have been terrorizing the land ever since Bayard's death. Endangering travelers, stealing countless fortunes, aiding in the escape of captured criminals. These thieves are not to be taken lightly. They are lead by a notorious villain of a name not yet revealed to me."

"Robin Hood," Gwaine says immediately. All eyes turn to him. There is a moment of silence and Arthur cocks his head ever-so-slightly upon hearing the name, his eyes distant as if searching for something that isn't there. Gwaine must take the king's look as one of disapproval because he raises his hands in innocence. "We had a pint together once. Nothing binding."

Arthur shakes his head, though Merlin suspects it is not to dismiss Gwaine, but rather rid himself of a particular thought. "I should hope not. Because we are to bring..._Hood_ and his men to justice." Arthur points to the trees. "Keep an eye out. Let us see what we are up against." He guides his horse back around to continue south, calling over his shoulder. "There is a stream not far ahead. We will stop to replenish our water supply!"

With a furrowed brow, Merlin catches up to Arthur, "Do you know that name? Robin Hood?"

"I can't say I do."

"Because when Gwaine said his name, you had a look like-"

"It's nothing. I was mistaken."

The horses bow their heads to drink from the shallow water that trickles over the stones of the riverbed. Alongside them are their riders, stooped down, dousing their faces and quenching their own thirsts. It is only another hour until they're upon the gates of Nottingham now, so the men do their best to make themselves presentable; some working more diligently on that matter than others. Not far off, Merlin sits on a boulder, working a bit of mud out of Arthur's red cloak and attempting to dry it in a beam of sunlight.

"Do you suppose they'll have a feast waiting for us?" Elyan asks with more longing than curiosity. Sir Percival dries his face before standing to stretch his legs.

"They had better if they know what's good for them."

"Ah, you forget!" Gwaine says, reclining back on the grassy bank. "We always have Merlin, the master chef, to come to our aid." He flashes Merlin a cheeky grin.

Merlin, lost in his thoughts, is made aware of the knights laughing at his expense. He lifts his head to join in their mirth, smiling a bit too broadly for it to be sincere, "Oh, absolutely! I know how much you gentlemen love to chomp on the hide of a nice fat rat."

"Well, we know Percival here does," Leon says, patting his friend on the back.

Elyan nods, "The man needs his protein."

"I have never had rat in my life!"

Gwaine is not fussed by the prospect, "I'm sure we all have at one time or another."

As the knights argue about who has or has not eaten rat in their life – though Merlin knows for a fact that they all have, multiple times, amongst other things best left unsaid – Merlin gathers Arthur's cape in his arms. He hikes back up the small bank toward where Arthur stands with his horse, repacking some of their provisions.

"I think I got out the last of it," he helps to fasten the cloak around Arthur's neck. Arthur inspects the fabric, looking to see where the stain once was.

"You have all the makings to be a fine housewife someday, Merlin." He smiles, giving him a hardy clap on the shoulder before turning to adjust the straps on his saddle. Merlin winces at the force of Arthur's appreciation.

"I already feel like one," he mutters beneath his breath.

"Come again?"

"I'm glad you're pleased, sire."

"Let us hope Lord Vaisey is as well," Arthur slips his gloves back on. "There is a lot riding on this. Giving even the slightest impression of being some unkempt child could weaken my credibility as a competent ally."

Even as he speaks, Merlin can see by the way Arthur's brow is knit tightly together and how he endlessly fidgets with his suit of armor that the young King of Camelot is nervous. "May I ask you a question?"

Arthur freezes in the middle of tightening a buckle, his face contorting. "Since when do you ask for permission? On anything?"

"It's just..." Merlin glances over his shoulder at the knights before lowering his voice, "Why does this duty have to fall upon you?"

"You really haven't a clue what it means to be king, do you?"

"Something doesn't feel right. Mercia is a proud kingdom, surely they would prefer to catch Robin Hood and his men on their own. Especially if he is a man decent enough to sit down and share a drink with Gwaine?"

Arthur raises an eyebrow at that, "I would not base a man's merit on his drinking history with Gwaine." He gives a smile. But Merlin doesn't.

"A king should not have to risk his life to show he is worthy of being an ally. Shouldn't Camelot's legacy speak for itself?"

"I don't expect you to understand. With Bayard gone, our treaty is null. I have to prove my worth to Lord Vaisey if he is to sign a new pact. And if that means bringing down a group of bandits, then so be it. I have faced far worse. And so have you." He grips Merlin's shoulder.

"You're certain this has nothing to do with Gwen?"

The sudden shift in conversation causes Arthur to retract his hand as though it had been placed on hot coals. "It has to do with peace, Merlin." His face is hard as stone, and a bitterness has fallen onto the edges of his words. "The well-being of my people. Nothing more. We have a strong army capable of vanquishing our foes, yes, but at what price? My soldiers are my responsibility too and they deserve just as much protection if I can give it. I cannot single-handedly defeat Essetir or Odin's men...or Mercia, for that matter," he motions towards Nottingham, "but I can bring peace. I can give them that. I can give them a little more security along our borders, and one less enemy to worry over. You should have more faith in me by now."

"You have all of my faith." Merlin shakes his head, "But your men are here to serve you. To ensure _your_ safety. The knights could have come on their own. They represent you and all that you are. You are already making a difference in every corner of Albion with the knights as your hands. You didn't need to come here yourself."

Arthur paces away, "Did you hear _nothing_ I just said?"

"I hear you," Merlin keeps his tone quiet for the sake of privacy, "but I also see you. Everyday, as it were. Staying to the training fields or the throne room. Avoiding the halls where she would walk by or the courtyard where you would see her fetching a fresh pail of water. You don't even like to be in your chambers. It was a place you two were supposed to share." Arthur says nothing, keeping his gaze off into the woods. Only the muscles tightening in his jaw give tell that he is hanging on Merlin's every word. The castle had become a prison of painful memories for the king; a place where his father, Uther, died, and where the woman he loved betrayed him with another man. Even now, almost a year later, as Arthur dines with Agravaine, Merlin sees the way he casts his gaze over the dining hall. Looking for her. For Gwen. Who was always there, ready to fill his empty glass in more ways than one. The walls of the castle had become a vice, pinching in and suffocating him.

"You didn't come to prove yourself," Merlin continues. "You came to _free_ yourself...even if only for a little while. But you must think about this, Arthur. If Robin Hood is as dangerous as they say, think of all that you're risking for a momentary reprieve...your life, the life of Camelot, and all that you've-"

"Merlin, please," Arthur's voice turns sober. He's back. The expressionless form he takes on when consumed with pain, the shell that seems to be alive, but shows no vigor. He walks briskly to his horse and mounts. "We make for Nottingham!" As the knights hurry to gather themselves, Arthur casts his eyes down at Merlin. "I know you mean well, but speak of this again and you will sorely regret it." He urges his horse onward, putting distance between himself and the others.

Red fabric whips around Merlin as the knights take off after their king, their capes spilling out behind them. When Gwaine passes, however, he slows to give Merlin's downcast cheek a friendly pat.

"No need to fear. I won't let the bandits get you." He takes a thoughtful pause. "Then again, it's said Robin Hood never misses his target. Not much I can do for that I'm afraid, so let's just hope he doesn't go painting a bullseye on your back, eh?" With a wink Gwaine is in hot pursuit of the others, leaving Merlin to himself.

The young dragonlord cannot help but see that his destiny grows more difficult when matters of the heart come into play. He will have to make certain that in freeing and proving himself, Arthur isn't also successful in getting himself killed.

The crack of splintering wood fills the air. Merlin spins around. A lone twig tumbles from a nearby tree and lands at the base of the trunk. Any thought of Arthur's plight with Gwen has turned to the task at hand. He surveys the branches suspended above him, afraid of what he might find. Eventually dismissing it as paranoia, Merlin reaches blindly behind him for his horse, grabbing the horn of the saddle and mounting as quickly as he can.

Another twig breaks. He leans down to spur his horse on, "R_eáchtáil ag luas mór!_" His vision flashes gold and they take off at great speed down the path. Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, Merlin sees a nondescript figure jump down to the forest floor, landing in a crouch. Straightening his posture, the sun's rays backlight the man, revealing something in his hand. A bow.

Cheerful is not the word one would use to describe Nottingham. The towering, though weary walls are more of a deterrent than an enticement; as if they are attempting to repress something toxic from spreading, not protect something precious that lies within. It stops Merlin and the knights in their tracks. They sometimes forget how fortunate they are to call Camelot their home, but it is times like this, when the air seems heavier and the dirt darker, that they remember.

There are no friendly faces at the gates to greet them; no one is there to meet them at all, leaving Arthur and his men to navigate themselves through the congested market towards the castle that rests at the rear of the city. People mill about, but very few speak. Instead of voices filling the streets, geese honk and gabble from their pens outside of the poulterer's shop, the butcher's cleaver echoes with every slaughter, doors slam, horses' hooves clack, but there is little merriment. No laughter or spirited conversation. Not even the ruckus of a nearby tavern can be detected. A beggar, coughing harshly, falls into step beside Arthur's horse. His trembling hand caresses the fine leather of Arthur's boot.

"Move along, sir," Gwaine crowds the man with his horse, causing him to scurry away. Others take the man's place, sauntering closer and hovering near the group. The behavior is peculiar to Merlin until he admits that even he sometimes hopes to seek refuge beneath the shadow of a great oak.

"Sire, if you'll allow us..." Leon nods to Elyan to take the lead with him, protecting Arthur from the front, while Percival and Gwaine follow behind with Merlin. Arthur gives no response. He does not even seem to realize the six of them have become a spectacle, their bright red cloaks drawing the eyes of many. He is too busy taking in the sights and the faces of the citizens, blackened with grime and creased with despair, displaying the hard times that have fallen on Nottingham and, perhaps, all of Mercia. He waves at a few of the onlookers, and Merlin is pleased when they return his king's gesture with a smile.

A shrill cry pierces through the sky, painting it red with the setting sun. It sends people cowering into the nearest storefront or doorway and chills down Merlin's spine. The scream continues, and this time it is clear where it is coming from. Arthur breaks formation, riding hastily through the now vacant streets toward the castle.

"Arthur!" Merlin calls after him, though he knows it is in vain. He sets his horse off after him, the knights following close behind.

The gates to the castle courtyard are open, but the entrance is blocked by the masses of people surrounding the gallows that stand erect at the square's center and looms high above them. Arthur dismounts his horse, leading it closer. Over the heads of the crowd, Arthur can see a man stands trial beneath a slack noose, while his wife claws at the guard who attempts to tame her.

"Please!" She cries, struggling against the guard's strong grasp. "It was a gift! A gift! Please! It was given to him! He has done nothing wrong!"

At the top of the castle stairs is a throne being occupied by whom Arthur can only assume is the steward, Lord Vaisey. He is a graying man, with more hair on his chin than his head, and a golden tooth that reflects the sunlight when he grins. At his right hand, stands a tall and severe-looking man, all in black; his arms are crossed over his chest, and his eyes remain fixed on the woman, though they divert from time to time to a young lady standing by his side. They are backed by at least a dozens soldiers, also in black, and standing at attention. Arthur presses through the crowd to get a closer look.

"Tell me, do tell me," the steward says calmly, his posture slumped against the back of the throne, "if I were to accept a gift from Lucifer himself, would I still be a righteous man?" Without a beat to spare, flecks of spit fly from the corners of his mouth, "No!" He springs forward in his seat, his palms slamming down on the arms of the throne. The vein in his temple beats visibly, his face flushing maroon. "No!"

Arthur furrows his brow. This man, a steward of ill-manners and a quick temper, is all that stands between him and achieving peace with Mercia. It is quickly becoming clear that this will not be an ally easily gained. He feels a pair of eyes on him, and notices the man in black looking directly at him from his position up front. The man turns away from the crowd to address Vaisey in private. As the steward listens to the man, Arthur can see Vaisey slowly gaining control again, and his eyes begin searching. For him.

"Arthur!" Merlin grabs his shoulder, appearing beside him, and Arthur glances back to see the knights have joined him as well, all with their horses in tow.

"What is this?" Merlin strains to see the source of the cries they heard.

"A terrible start," Arthur mutters to keep others from hearing.

The steward of Mercia stands, a smile suddenly plastered on his face. He throws out his arms in a grand gesture, causing the man in black to duck and spare his nose from harm, "Ladies and gentlemen! A brief intermission is in order! It has come to my attention that our guests have arrived!" Lord Vaisey initiates a round of applause, which the man in black reluctantly joins in on, giving two claps before crossing his arms once more. "All the way from the shining kingdom of Camelot: King Arthur and his knights!"

The entire courtyard turns their focus to the men in red, who smile politely, giving nods of appreciation. Arthur steps forward to address the steward, attempting to maintain his pleasant demeanor amidst an execution, for which a woman still grieves.

"My apologies. It seems we arrived at a time of great inconvenience."

"Oh pish-posh! Out with the old, in with the new!" Vaisey throws a hand toward the man at the gallows then another toward Arthur. "Not the most joyous of welcomes I admit," Vaisey takes a look around. "But festive nonetheless, don't you agree? Come, Your Majesty! Join us on the stairs." He snaps his fingers. "Gisbourne!"

The man dressed in black motions to a few of his men, "Take their horses to the stables, get them fed!" The soldiers, once still as statues, break into motion, descending the stairs and approaching the men of Camelot. Arthur hands the reins over before going to meet the steward properly. He walks across the courtyard, the spectators dipping into bows as he passes them by. Distracted by their admiration, Arthur does not notice Lord Vaisey, who is not handling the people's show of respect quite as gladly. He is still smiling broadly, but it looks as if his jaw might shatter if he clenches his teeth any tighter. Arthur offers a few more nods to the onlookers.

Ascending the stairs, he clasps the steward's arm in greeting, "Your people show great consideration. I am honored by their reception."

"Yes, yes, as I had hoped you would be." While the steward goes on to boast about his people, a feminine whisper comes from beside Gisbourne.

"This is King Arthur?"

He smirks down at the young lady, "Not so impressive in person, is he?"

Arthur is too busy trying to look engaged at what Lord Vaisey is saying to take note of the offense directed his way. When the steward suddenly stops talking and his brow furrows, Arthur exchanges an uncertain glance with Merlin.

"My Lord?"

"I am overcome with the strange sensation that I am forgetting something. What is it?" He squints as he looks to the sky, snapping his fingers repeatedly. "What is it? What _is_ it?" He hits Gisbourne's chest in frustration.

Gisbourne lets out a breath, "My lord..."

"Oh yes, that's right" He points to the man waiting at the gallows. "Hang him." Smiling at Camelot's king, his gold tooth gleams once again. "Come inside." He turns on his heels to lead the way.

But finding her strength once more, the woeful woman lurches from the guards' grasp, running up the stairs and knocking Merlin off his feet to get to Arthur. Percival catches her around the waist before she can do anything but grab the hem of Arthur's cape.

"Please!" she gasps, "Help us! Have mercy!"

Bewildered, Arthur quickly checks on Merlin, who is being helped up by Elyan and the young lady, before turning his attention to the woman, "I'm sorry, but your steward has spoken. There is nothing I can do."

"You are King Arthur!" She says. "Your reputation precedes you, and I have heard of your mercy. I see it in your eyes! I see the compassion. Even now. Will you not help us? Will you not save his life from such an injustice?"

"You think you would find favor beneath the reign of King Arthur?" Vaisey appears at Arthur's shoulder, his venomous tone causing the hair on the back of the king's neck to stand up. "That he is more noble and just than I am?"

The air among them becomes thick, making the tension known to the knights, who hover closely beside Arthur, their hands resting casually on the hilts of their swords.

"She's desperate," Arthur says, hoping to offer reason. "That's all. If she sees an ounce of hope anywhere, she will cling to it."

"Hope," Lord Vaisey nods, taking a step down to be closer to the woman. He grabs her chin, "Shall we seek a second opinion on your husband's behalf?" The woman lets out a sob of relief as she nods. He curls a lip, "Very well then."

Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but only shuts it, his lips pressing together in a slight grimace. There is not an outcome he can see where both the man walks away with his life _and_ Camelot walks away with a peace treaty. Lord Vaisey paces in front of the people, his hands clasped behind his back.

"This will be quick," he says. "I assure you all of that. Go on, tell the king what happened."

"You are the governing voice here," Arthur insists. "This is not necessary."

"Oh, come come," Vaisey grins. "Where is your sense of fun, hmm?"

The woman fiddles with the bit of fabric from Arthur's cloak she still holds in her hands, her eyes refusing to meet anyone's. Arthur rubs his forehead before finally motioning for Percival to release her. He pulls his cloak free from her grip and rests his hands on her shoulders.

"What is your name?"

"Catraine."

"And your husband's?"

Her lip quivers at the very thought of him, "Brom, sire." She finally plucks up enough courage to meet his gaze, though she cannot hold it for long. "We, our family, was starving. Taxes were collected just a few days ago, we had no money left for food. But we awoke this morning to that basket on our doorstep." She points down the stairs to where a basket, frayed and smashed, lays with fresh produce and baked goods littered around it. "My husband was the one to discover it. He brought it into the house. That's it. Nothing more."

"Blah-dee-blah-dee-blah," Lord Vaisey says with a tired drawl. "You leave out the most important detail, my sweet. Yes, tell King Arthur the name of the man behind the gift."

"It was...it was Robin Hood, sire."

"There. You see?" Vaisey leans in close to the woman's face, sniffing like a dog. "She reeks of treason. Luckily! I am chivalrous, and have generously allowed her neck to be spared."

Arthur releases the woman, hesitating before deciding to speak, "Forgive me, my lord, but the only thing I see is a family in need of nourishment. I do not think they had malicious intent."

"If it is nourishment they desire, they can _buy_ it!"

"With what money!?" The young lady elbows her way out from behind the men.

"Marian," Gisbourne grabs her arm, but she wrenches it loose to stand beside Arthur, who studies her intently as she talks.

"Any money they have is going to your taxes." Her strong voice and resolute demeanor, the kindness in her eyes that cannot be overshadowed by her anger, and the curls around her face that shake as her temper grows...it all strikes at a memory he can't quite grasp. "You're forcing them to seek the help you should be providing from other people. You cannot punish them for that."

"My dear, you may want to control that tongue before I cut it out." He pouts, "It would be a shame though, wouldn't it? I know Gisbourne would not approve."

Gisbourne grabs her more firmly, pulling her back by his side.

"Lord Vaisey, perhaps a warning would be sufficient to handle this minor offense," suggests Arthur. "They show remorse for what they..." He trails off when Lord Vaisey begins wagging a finger.

"Hmm, no, I have a better idea," he says. "I am going to ask you a question. Just one, little, tiny question. But your answer to that question shall serve as his charge, and he will receive the sentence attached to that charge. Are we in agreement?"

"I..." Arthur hesitates, glancing to a few of the people around him. He hopes to find encouragement from Merlin, but only finds the all too familiar panic being taken out on the lip that he is biting down on. It is the face of Catraine that spurs him on, her eyes wide with hopeful expectation and waiting with bated breath for his answer.

He reluctantly gives Vaisey a nod, "If that would please you."

"Excellent!" Lord Vaisey claps his hands together. Percival, gently takes Catraine's arm, pulling her away to give the two men more space. "In Camelot," Vaisey begins, "I hear you have a nuisance of your own there."

Arthur nods, "A few, you could say."

"A sorceress by the name of...oh, what is it? _Lady Morgana_! Yes, that's it." Arthur's body stiffens at her name, bringing a small grin to Vaisey's lips. "You knew her quite well then, as I should hope, she did grow up in the palace with you. Almost like a sister, you would say. Lovely girl. Truly." The king offers no words on the matter, so Vaisey continues, "Then...something happened, as it always does, and things changed, as they always do. She has developed a certain hatred for you. Well, loathes you, actually. Aw...your own sister. There is not a kingdom in Albion who isn't aware of that. And she felt the same towards your father, though he's no problem to her now, of course. Pity."

Arthur swallows hard, feeling his cheeks begin to burn, but he settles into a wider stance, keeping his eyes fixed on Vaisey, who delights in going on, "An accomplishment on her part, I imagine. I am sure it is not easy to penetrate the walls of Camelot, but she managed it, though I hear she often uses other people to do her bidding. Hmm, I do wonder where she finds these people, so willing to risk their lives and make an attack against you. Another betrayal that surely stings, and rightfully so. If I am being honest, how you manage to trust anyone is beyond me." His grin widens after Arthur's gaze lowers to the ground in contemplation and his posture weakens. Arthur feels movement behind him as Merlin steps forward to speak, but the strong hand of Leon stops him from causing any further trouble.

Vaisey gives pause to Merlin before stepping in closer to Arthur, tilting his head back to see into the face of the king, "Rumor has it, it has become her daily goal to kill you, Arthur Pendragon. To bring down your kingdom and sit upon the throne herself. To wipe away all that your father has done to create a peaceful and prosperous Camelot, and all that you are currently doing to further improve it, to make the sacrifices you have both made stand for nothing, so that it may be torn down and rebuilt to reflect her values, her power." Lord Vaisey shakes his head, pretending not to notice the heavy rise and fall of Arthur's chest as the words begin to take effect.

"It is a threat," Vaisey says, "that must bare down heavily on your young shoulders. If you do not stop her, not only will you lose your own life, but the lives of your people, your knights, of everyone you love; they will all fall under her reign. Into a life of enslavement, if not death. And yet here you are, you continue to endure this encroaching shadow of terror. Every day, watching over your shoulder, wondering if today is the day she strikes again, and if you can even withstand another attack. Wondering if today will be the day that you fail as king. All because of this one woman. This one infallible enemy."

Arthur shows no shame, raising his eyes to meet Vaisey's, and though they brim with tears, he does not allow a single one to shed, "And the question, my lord steward?"

"If Lady Morgana were to bestow a gift of, oh I don't know, _food_ perhaps to one of the citizens of Camelot. And they received her gift gladly. Open arms. Without any hesitation." He steps right up to Arthur, raising his eyebrows, "Without any thought of you. Or Camelot. Aw...and you found out. With one word, just one little word...tell us, what would you charge them with?"

There is nowhere Arthur can look to find an answer that would spare this man's life, but he casts his gaze over the waiting crowd anyway. All of these people who have heard of his benevolence, and willingness to pass grace instead of judgment, how would they look upon him if he allowed the only word currently on his tongue to slip and sentence this man to death?

Merlin's soft voice breaks through his muddled thoughts, "He's manipulating you, Arthur, do-"

"I am helping you to see reason!" Lord Vaisey spits, in a poor attempt to contain his anger. "If you or I allow those consorting with our enemies to go freely, we will lose everything we have worked for! And our enemies will only gain one more foot in the door. Is that what you want?"

"No, of course not."

"Then we need to promote _loyalty_!" The steward turns to his people and points at Brom. "That man has betrayed me. He has befriended one who would ruin Nottingham if he had the chance! And in doing so he has proclaimed where his allegiance truly lies! Therefore, I find you guilty of-" he flourishes a hand towards Arthur, prompting him to give his one word answer.

"Of..." Arthur shakes his head ruefully, "Treason."

A shrill cry escapes Catraine as her legs give out beneath her, collapsing into Percival's arms, which easily catch her before she hits the harshness of the brick steps. Lord Vaisey smiles.

"You heard the king," he shrugs innocently. "Hang him!" The crowd erupts in a flurry of voices, some crying out for Brom, others yelling against the steward, and still others shout to express their outrage over Arthur's uncharacteristic proclamation against the downtrodden.

The noose is tightened around Brom's neck, and a guard prepares to disengage the floor beneath him. Arthur cannot bring himself to watch. He tries to divert his attention from the fated man, from the disappointed faces of those around him, when he notices someone on top of the courtyard walls. Squinting against the setting sun, he sees the figure draw back on his bow, but does not have enough time to even let out a yell of warning.

The arrow strikes the gallows, shredding the rope that held Brom's noose, drawing out more screams from the spectators. The archer fixes his bow over a rope tether, jumping from the wall and flying down to the gallows. Nottingham's soldiers launch into action, while Gisbourne tries to wrangle Marian inside and out of harm's way. The steward cowers behind Gisbourne until he can reach the safety of the castle doorway.

"It's Hood! Shut the gates!" He yells, only his head poking out from behind the door now. "Shut the bloody gates! Find him! Kill him! _Kill him_!"

A handful of men leap out of the crowd, bearing arms. The people quickly shy back, desperate to get away lest they become collateral damage, but it is too late. The gates leading out of the courtyard have already been sealed. As the knights of Camelot draw their swords, Arthur shoves Merlin down behind the back of the throne, pointing sternly at him.

"Stay out of sight!" He races down the stairs before Merlin can even respond. The first outlaw he comes across is enthusiastic, albeit a little petite with a bandana covering his ginger head.

"We are Robin Hood!" He pumps his fist into the air, turning just in time to realize he is being charged at by the King of Camelot. Letting out a yell of surprise, he brings up his blade to block the oncoming assault. He twists their blades free and swings at Arthur who jumps back. The tip of the small man's blade only manages to cut the fabric of Arthur's tunic. Arthur swings high. It's blocked. His opponent kicks him roughly in the gut, sending him stumbling back. As he tries to regain his footing, the small man takes a swing at him. Grabbing the man's arm, Arthur thrusts him around, throwing him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him as he lands on his back. He strikes down at him, but the small man blocks again using both hands on the hilt of his sword. Arthur, seeing the grimace on the small man's face and feeling the waver in his arm, presses harder against him, knowing he will soon give. His opponent huffs and puffs as he tries to push him away, but to no avail, Arthur is much too big for him. The man's wild eyes shift from Arthur to just over Arthur's shoulder; a smile of relief comes to his face.

Another man comes up behind Arthur, choking him with a giant rod as he pins him back against his chest by his neck. Arthur sputters for air. He can tell by the meaty, hairy arms holding the rod that this new opponent is not quite as small. He may even be a challenge for Percival. Still close enough to reach, Arthur kicks the smaller man in the gut and into a Nottingham soldier, who keeps him occupied. The rod presses harder against his throat and it is all Arthur can do to keep breathing. He thrusts the hilt of his sword into his opponent's ribs, drawing out a pain-filled grunt that only seems to give the man more vitality.

"Arthur!" Merlin's voice is distant, though not distant enough to insure he has stayed out of harm's way, but it is not something that Arthur can allow himself to be distracted by.

With a loud crack, Arthur is suddenly able to draw breath as the rod snaps in half right where his throat had been. He shoves himself away from the man's chest, spinning around to face his opponent. The large bear of a man stands in awe, looking dumbfounded by the broken pieces of staff in his hands. Arthur, coughing in an attempt to regain his breath, is just as impressed. He was certain his neck would break before the likes of a rod that thick would.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Merlin sprint past him and into the crowd. He whirls around in an attempt to grab the loose back of his jacket, but the growl of the bear draws his focus back to the task at hand.

"Merlin!" Arthur calls out angrily before turning to block one of the splintered halves of the rod. He uses his forearm to block the other half that swings at him. "Bloody fool," he mutters to himself, knowing Merlin was no warrior, and likely to get himself killed.

"I know a few of those," the man says gruffly before using all of his might to shove Arthur flat on his back. Arthur rolls over to avoid being struck, then rolls the opposite direction to spare himself once more. When he looks to his opponent, he notices that something is pulling his attention to the front gates.

"Well, it's time for me to go," the bear-like man tosses the broken pieces of rod to the ground.

Arthur furrows his brow, never hearing a more ridiculous statement in the middle of a fight. He swings his blade at the man, who catches the arm wielding his sword with one hand and punching him violently in the face with the other. Casually stepping over Arthur, he makes for the castle gates.

After getting himself reoriented, Arthur scrambles to his feet to see what is going on. In front of the closed gate stands, who Arthur can only assume, is Robin Hood. Beside him are his men, along with Catraine and Brom. But most alarming is who Robin holds hostage with a knife to his throat: Merlin.

"Raise the gates!" Robin demands. His eyes are fixed on Lord Vaisey, who has reemerged along with Marian. "Let us and these two innocent people go, or this boy dies."

The steward lets out a boisterous laugh, "Of all the people here, you choose a _servant_ to hold at ransom?" His laugh suddenly ceases. "Um, no. Go ahead and kill him."

"No!" Arthur shouts, holding a steady hand out to Robin, "Let him go." He turns his head to address the steward. "Just let them go. Let them have one last victory. We'll put everything right in the end. I promise you."

Lord Vaisey curls a lip, "He's just a grubby servant boy."

"I'm here to prove my worth to you as an ally," Arthur says. "The least you can do is lend me your faith in return by sparing my manservant and trusting that I will do as I promised."

He sighs dramatically, waving a hand towards the gatekeepers "Oh, alright. Spare the poor boy. Raise the gates! But he is your problem now, my dear King."

Arthur slips his sword back into his sheath, approaching Robin and Merlin. The gate clicks as it starts lifting behind them.

"Your men are good fighters, they will prove to be a challenge," Robin grins, a glint of arrogance in his eyes. Arthur says nothing, only looks to Merlin, making certain the skin on his neck has not been broken by Robin's blade. "Don't worry. He is unscathed."

"Robin, let's go," the bear of a man slips through the opening beneath the gate with the others.

Waiting until everyone has made it out safely, Robin shoves Merlin into Arthur with a broad smile, "It's nice to see you again, Wart."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

No, it couldn't have been. Not here. She wouldn't dare. Still raven hair spilled out from beneath the woman's hood, green eyes shone from within its shadow. Not a soul seemed to notice her as she glided, with unabashed confidence, through the panicked crowd, her eyes fixed on only one person from which they did not waver: Arthur Pendragon. Rather than approach him, she stayed within the cover of the masses. Observing. Prowling.

Crouched behind the throne, Merlin could not get a proper look at the woman to confirm his suspicions of her identity. But the pounding of his heart and aching of his temples, where the magnitude of her power pressed in, tormenting his senses, was enough for him. He abandoned his king's orders, and thankfully so, as it seemed he would no longer have a king if he had waited a minute longer. Arthur was being choked by what appeared to be a giant of mythological proportions.

"Arthur!" Merlin yelled. He took a deep breath and whispered, "_Brise__á__dh __ì__ leath_." The rod bearing down into Arthur's neck snapped in half, freeing him from the man's hold and allowing him to breath again, but Merlin could not spare anymore time. He ran down the stairs and into the crowd, barely aware of his friend calling his name. All of his concentration was on the faces of those around him. Where was she? He could still feel her presence there, in his mind, pushing in on him. But she was nowhere to be found. Closing his eyes, he tried his best to focus in on her. Yes. She was still there. Whipping his head to the right, he saw her. Across the courtyard. But her face remained concealed.

He began to push his way through the crowd, determined to find out once and for all whether this was the woman he feared it was, and if it was, then exposing her now, in front of everyone, would leave no room for doubt among the naysayers. He barely managed two more steps before a strong arm grabbed Merlin from behind, and pressed a knife to his throat-

"No!" Merlin shouts as he is forced to turn around. He blinks. He is no longer standing in the courtyard, at the mercy of a bandit, but in Nottingham's banquet hall, full of people laughing and feasting. A wide-eyed Gwaine stares up at him from his seat.

"I was only going to ask for a refill, mate." It's then that Merlin realizes he is holding a pitcher of wine in his hands. He leans over the table to replenish Gwaine's cup. "Had a few too many to drink, eh, Merlin?"

Still trying to recover from the scene that has been plaguing him all evening, Merlin wipes the sweat from his brow and sputters for words, "Y-yeah, that must be it."

"Don't worry," says Percival, who sits beside Gwaine. "We spotted a tavern on our way in earlier. A few trips with us, and you'll be able to handle your drink in no time."

"Or at least handle it better than Arthur," Elyan jests from across the table where he begins filling his plate with second helpings. He reaches for the last drumstick of the turkey, but Gwaine snatches it before he can get to it.

"Anyone can hold their drink better than the king," he says with a victorious grin, biting into his winnings. A round of laughter erupts from the knights, drawing the attention of others, including Arthur, who frowns as his friends hold up their glasses to him or, in Gwaine's case, a turkey leg with flesh hanging off of its bone.

Merlin manages a smile, his anxieties beginning to ease. When he scans the room, he does not see signs of despair, which was so prevalent amongst the faces out in the square earlier today, instead he sees cheerful grins and rosy cheeks, all overflowing in excited chatter. Even the air seems lighter, like a window has been opened to allow the fresh breeze in after a season of breathing stale musk. The cloaked woman is nowhere in sight, nor can Merlin feel her presence, only enhancing the freshness of the evening. In fact, the only women in the banquet hall seem to be the wives and daughters of the noblemen in attendance. Many of their eyes linger on the men of Camelot, and Merlin can see by the swagger in his friends' mannerisms that they are loving every moment of it.

His only concern is seated directly beside Arthur: Lord Vaisey and his cohort, Sir Guy. There is something about them that does not rest well with Merlin's nerves. Perhaps it is the way that the steward baited Arthur, daring him to rise up against him for the sake of Brom's life, or the way that he, at the same time, knew Arthur's most deep-rooted fears and used them to extract the outcome he desired most, only to flash a cold smile as if unaware of his cruelty towards his guest. Even now, Lord Vaisey speaks jovially with Arthur. But there is something dead in his eyes, and Merlin wishes he could rip the mask from his face to reveal his true intentions.

Quite the opposite is Sir Guy, who seems incapable of putting on an amiable front. Since they arrived, he has only offered a brief greeting to Arthur and nothing more, keeping his distance and barely looking in Arthur's direction when he is speaking. Merlin has to admit that while his king is not always the most genial, it is rare for him to receive such little regard. It makes Merlin wonder if perhaps there isn't more going on beneath Sir Guy's brooding surface, diverting his attention from their visitors to something more demanding of his time.

"My fine people!" Lord Vaisey begins loudly. As he stands, the ruckus of conversation slowly dwindles, and guests dine in silence to give him their full attention. "Now that our stomachs are full and thirsts quenched, allow me to boast about our guest of honor! I have already introduced him to the city as King Arthur of Camelot, but never did I expect to witness his legendary bravery so soon upon his arrival. While bringing a traitor to justice, Robin Hood, the thorn in my side, the demon on Nottingham's shoulder, attacked the good people of this city! But did our dear guests shy away? Hmm?" He rests a firm hand down on Arthur's shoulder. "No! They sprung into action! Scaring Hood and his men off and sparing the lives of dozens!"

Merlin scrunches his face, not entirely sure that is how it happened, but joins in on the round of applause given in the knights' honor.

"I am certain," the steward continues, "that what we will find in these men will not only be loyal allies to last our kingdom through the ages, but fierce warriors and noble saviors. I do. I truly believe that. After the passing of our dear, precious King Bayard, did we not struggle to maintain our footing amidst our loss? Did we not put everything we had into establishing a safe home in which to eagerly anticipate the new King of Mercia's coming of age? Aw...poor little Leofrick. A child who has never known his mother, and is now without a father. Such a pity. Given the time, we all know he will grow to be a great king, but Robin Hood would have this kingdom fall to depravity and ruin before that time can come! For everyone to become criminals, murdering and stealing! I cannot allow this to happen. No, I _will_ not allow this to happen!" He pauses to gather himself, as if he is on the verge of tears. Sir Guy grimaces at the display and hides his face in his goblet, finishing off what Merlin is sure to be at least his fifth glass of wine.

Lord Vaisey takes a deep breath, squeezing Arthur's shoulder, "And that is why, dear friends, I have called upon the most capable to clear our homes of these bandit vermin. I know they will restore order to our kingdom, and above all, they will restore our hope." Another round of applause fills the room, and Arthur stands, his stature towering over that of the petite Lord Vaisey at his side.

"Allow me to first express my sincere appreciation for the honor we have been given to serve you all in this fashion," Merlin smiles at the formality in Arthur's tone. No matter how much time has passed, he can never seem to get used to it. This is the same man who can only converse in grunts upon first being woken up in the morning, and who will endlessly debate the true definition of a dollophead. But there is never a speech that goes by, no matter how foreign Arthur might sound, where Merlin does not feel the blossom of pride throughout in his chest.

"We have heard of your plights and seen your struggles first hand," says Arthur, "But we do not come selflessly. We have come to fight and we will fight for you. We will fight for justice. More than that, however, we will fight for a brighter future. For Camelot and Mercia alike. Where King Leofrick can grow in the security that his destiny as a great leader awaits him, and where the alliance between our two kingdoms holds firm for centuries to come. Let us hold to hope." Arthur raises his goblet. The room mirrors his action and they all drink in unison, letting the sentiment of his words linger in the air. Arthur sets his cup roughly down onto the tabletop, "The bandits had better sleep well tonight for they will find no peace from us once the dawn breaks!"

The roar of cheers and jeers fill the hall, erupting all at once then rippling out into separate, though equally enthused conversations amongst the banqueters. Arthur motions for Merlin as he sits back down, beckoning him to his side.

"Are you sure another drink is a smart choice, sire? You'll be getting up especially early tomorrow and you've already had _one_ glass."

"Shut up, Merlin." He stops Merlin from refilling his goblet, "That's not why I wanted you."

"Oh. Why did you then?"

"I noticed you had a bit of a hard time out in the square earlier this evening."

The two men stare at each other, Arthur refusing to expand upon his meaning and Merlin struggling to process his point. Merlin's eyebrows finally shoot up, "And you're worried about me?"

"Don't be stupid," says Arthur. "It's just, amidst settling in and preparing for the feast, I was never able to-"

"See if I was all right?"

"-see if you were fit to ride with us tomorrow." Arthur lifts a finger, "Don't put words in my mouth, Merlin."

"Yes, I'd say I am fit, sire, thank you for your concern."

"I was _not_ con-"

"Ah!" Lord Vaisey suddenly stands again. "Here is our king!"

Merlin and Arthur, along with everyone else, turn their attention up to the balcony overlooking the great hall. Coming through the main doors, flanked by several maids, is Lady Marian, who holds the hand of a young boy, his stature barely visible over the railing, but between the spindles the bright, unmistakable blue of Mercia can clearly be seen coloring his cape. All those in attendance rise to their feet as the king and his entourage descends down the stairs. Leofrick holds on tightly to Marian's hand, carefully taking each step one-by-one and looking around the room with wide eyes. Merlin glances to his side to see Arthur's reaction to a king far younger than even himself, but Arthur is not looking at Leofrick, his eyes are on the young boy's handler.

"There was much excitement when he learned of your arrival, your majesty," Lord Vaisey sits down to resume his dessert.

"Oh. Yes, I am eager to meet him."

Just down the table, Marian stops Leofrick so that he can introduce himself to the knights, but he hides behind the skirt of her gown, only poking his head out to gawk up at their size.

"This is Percival," says Sir Leon. "He might look scary, but..." He stoops down and lowers his voice as if to share a secret, "that's because his ancestors were from a tribe of gentle giants. Massive folk, but they wouldn't hurt a fly." Leofrick smiles at that, his dimples pinching deep into both cheeks. He doesn't say anything in response, rather shifts his eyes over to Arthur.

"Merlin," Arthur whispers urgently, "I don't know how to talk to children..."

"Just speak to him like I speak to you, sire."

There is no time for him to hear Arthur scold him. The feeling returns. As if he is standing in a dark hallway and a door at the end cracks open, allowing light to creep in his direction, its magnitude growing with every second. She's here. Or at least someone who possesses a potency of magic, that is undeniable. He cannot help but remember that _she_ has shape-shifted before, and he would not put it past her to do it again. The maids accompanying King Leofrick look innocent enough, one elderly and plump with rosy cheeks, and the other small and fragile with a gaze that does not leave the safety of the floor in front of her, but it must be one of them. It has to be.

Merlin finally snaps to attention when he hears Arthur clear his voice, and he realizes that he is blocking Leofrick and Marian from Arthur, "Oh! Sorry."

"What on earth is wrong with you?" Arthur mutters as Merlin moves aside. "You'll have to excuse him. He's just so excited to be here, it seems he's lost count of his drinks."

"I think that is a common problem," says Marian, casting a glance over the different banquet tables, the guests who occupy them becoming louder with every passing moment. Her eyes come back to rest on Arthur, and the two of them hold one anothers' gaze with such comfort, Merlin is certain he has missed something, though he has hardly left Arthur's side since they arrived.

Arthur finally turns his attention to Leofrick, "And this must be the beloved king I hear so much about." He stoops down, and Leofrick slowly edges out from behind Marian.

"You heard of me?"

"Oh yes, your strength is the talk of Camelot." Arthur sticks his hand out to the small king, "Why don't you show me just how strong you are?" After checking with Marian, Leofrick runs forward, his small blue cloak flapping behind him, and grabs Arthur's hand, shaking it vigorously with both of his. "The legends hold true! You will surely be the strongest man in all of Albion one day."

"I hear tales of your adventures every night 'fore bed."

"Do you?" asks Arthur. The little boy nods, and looks at Marian, as if asking her to be his witness. Arthur smiles up at her, "Are you the storyteller?"

"We've read through his books so many times," she says as if needing to make an excuse for herself. "He wanted something new, and word of your journeys are always coming through here."

"My favorite is when you snucked into the fairy castle and saved those boys from the evil fairy lady!" says Leofrick, bouncing in place with excitement. "And you fought her griffin all by yourself!"

"Very few people know that story," he throws a pointed glance Marian's way before scooping the little king up in his arms and standing to stretch his legs. A blush rises on Marian's cheeks, but she sets her jaw to help herself maintain her poise.

Merlin struggles with all his might to connect the dots he knows are there, but he often forgets that Arthur had a life all his own before Merlin came to Camelot, full of stories he's never heard, and people he's never met.

"Why do you like that one?" Arthur asks.

Leofrick grazes the fresh bruise on Arthur's cheekbone with his fingertips like he has found an ancient relic proving all he's heard is true, "You were little, like me."

"That was the first beast I ever slayed."

Marian smooths the front of her skirt, "He has so few men in his life...I think he just enjoys having a hero to aspire to. Especially one that started so young."

Arthur's smile grows as he holds his chin up a bit higher, "I'm flattered you find me-"

"I would not cling to praise yet," Marian takes Leofrick into her own arms, using the close proximity to lower her voice and speak her mind without threat of being scolded. "Adoration from afar can go untarnished for years, but in close quarters the illusion can be broken in a single moment. I suggest you take special care to keep the pedestal he has you on intact."

Arthur can only nod, and Merlin bites back a laugh. He has not seen Arthur properly scolded since the days of King Uther.

Her voice turns cheery, "Say goodnight, my king, we must get you to bed."

Leofrick, who has gotten distracted by the knights struggling to divide the last of the dessert between them, returns his attention to Marian, "But we've just come!"

"You should have already been asleep by now, but you promised you only wanted to say a quick 'hello', isn't that what you said?"

Leofrick sighs, "Yes, but-"

"You know, it seems things are becoming rather dull around here anyway," says Arthur. "Don't you agree, Merlin?" He has to do a double-take when he sees that Merlin is not going along with anything, but genuinely yawning.

Merlin nods as he tries to finish it out. "Yes, sire."

"See?" Arthur looks at Leofrick, whose head now rests on Marian's shoulder. "I think I'll be going to bed shortly too."

Marian smiles in appreciation then nudges the boy in her arms, "What do you say?"

"Goodnight, your majesty."

"To you? It's just Arthur." Arthur gives a small bow, "Goodnight, King Leofrick."

"To you?" he mimics with a wave of his hand, "It's just Leo."

Arthur offers another bow, lifting his eyes to the boy's caretaker, "Marian..."

She barely gives him a nod him before turning to leave with the maids following close behind. Merlin watches them, hoping for some slip in character that will help him to determine one of them as the source of these feelings he's having; a glint in their eye, a twitch of the mouth, a malfunction in the disguise, anything. But he finds nothing. The entire hall fills with voices as the guests cast their best wishes for a peaceful night's rest and pleasant dreams to their departing king. Arthur leans over to Merlin, watching Marian go.

"I can't quite decide whether she _lectured_ me or _threatened_ me."

"She spoke with such familiarity," Merlin says, "Who is she?"

"As a child, my father would bring me with him whenever he came to visit Bayard," Arthur turns to face Merlin once the doors have closed behind the entourage, the room deflating as the magic goes with them. "She is his niece, not by blood, but he valued her just the same." His face falls as he looks away from Merlin. "We were inseparable."

"You've never spoken of her before...what happened?"

"It was all my fault," Arthur shakes his head. "If you have learned nothing else about me over these past few years, Merlin, you should have at least come to realize that I am poison."

Merlin furrows his brow, his stomach churning at such self-deprecating talk that he has never heard him speak before. "That's not true..."

"Yes, it is." Arthur laughs, but there is no humor in it, "The people in my life never last. My mother, my father, Marian, Morgana, Lancelot..." He trails off, resuming his place at the banquet table and Merlin knows the one additional name he cannot bring himself to say.

"I am still here, sire, and I always will be," as he says the words, he catches a glimpse of Sir Guy discretely leaving the hall out of the corner of his eye. Who is he going after? One thing Merlin can always count on is for Morgana to never work alone, and who better to find an ally in than the disgruntled right-hand man of Lord Vaisey? It occurs to him that Arthur is talking to him.

"-but I know I don't say it often."

Merlin stares at him a moment, unsure of how to ease out of the conversation. "I have to go," Merlin sets the pitcher hastily down on the table, causing some wine to slosh out onto the table.

"Go _where_?" Arthur recoils to avoid being splashed.

"To...clean your room. Obviously. Can't have a proper night's sleep with..._stuff_...all over the place, can we?"

"We just got here, how messy can it be?"

Merlin laughs, "Oh, sire, if only you knew the power of your own uncleanliness."

"Merlin!"

He slaps Arthur's back. "Take your time, sire. Enjoy yourself." When Arthur can only stare at him with a deeply knit brow, Merlin takes it as his cue to leave before he can command him to do otherwise. He flashes a smile before hurrying up the stairs, two at a time, hoping to catch a sign of which way Guy might be heading.

Stopping just outside, he turns in a circle to evaluate the different paths, eventually noticing the two guards that are watching him. Merlin offers a small wave, but they don't respond.

"Just...trying to remember the way..." Merlin scratches the back of his head and clears his throat to cover anything the guards might hear, whispering under his breath, "_Leanúint ar chonair_." A path of glowing footprints materialize from the brick floors of the hall, leading down the eastern hallway. He wastes no time in following after them.

Winding through the corridors, Merlin begins to wonder if he will ever catch up to him when he hears a pair of voices talking in urgent whispers. He knows they are just ahead and to the right, where the footprints round a corner. Creeping closer, Merlin can see their shadows being cast over the floor and up the wall by the flickering sconces. One figure is tall and lean, the other, petite and feminine.

"Please, Sir Guy," the voice is soft, but not pleading. The voice belongs to Marian.

The distinct, deep hum of Gisbourne's voice follows, "I may be willing to talk to the steward, but perhaps you should have thought twice before challenging him in front of an audience."

"I had to. It needed to be said and, as a guest, Arthur may not have-"

"Arthur?" Guy interrupts. "Already on a first name basis, are you?"

"His majesty, King Arthur," she corrects herself with an edge of annoyance, "may not have realized the struggles of the people here."

Merlin inches silently forward, wanting to get closer still. A mirror on the wall catches their reflection, and he can see a smirk forming on Guy's lips.

"There is a lot the young king doesn't realize, Marian."

Marian steps back against the wall, putting more distance between the two of them, "Why must you mock him?"

Guy rests a hand on the wall beside her, his other hand planting itself on his hip, "Why must you defend him? He is nothing but a boy playing soldier, surely you see his immaturity. The steward barely had to lift a finger to bend the king's will to his own."

Enraptured in their dialogue, Merlin nearly forgets he stands in the middle of an open hallway. He glances behind to insure no one has spotted him and threatens to give his position away, but when he returns his attention to the mirror, Marian is already looking back at him. Merlin feels his blood run cold. Guy turns to see what has caught Marian's attention, but she tugs on his lapel to keep his focus.

"If you have so little regard for him, why bother with a treaty at all?" She straightens the collar of his jacket. "It seems cruel to use him."

He runs a hand down her arm, "You think I don't know what you're doing, Marian? You can try to keep me talking all you like, but your punishment will not be forgotten. There is only so much I can say in your defense."

"And will you say it?"

"Yes, of course," he says. "But you must start showing some restraint."

"Thank you, Guy. Now really, I must be getting on. Leofrick is waiting inside."

As the conversation comes to a close, Merlin slowly backs away from the corner, not overly thrilled at the idea of being caught eavesdropping by a man of such severity. Once he is clear of the mirror's reflection, he turns and hurries back down the hall, all the while, a single sentence spoken by Sir Guy repeats itself over in his mind: _There is a lot the young king doesn't realize_.

* * *

Inside his chambers, Arthur leans on the large oak table, pouring over a map of Sherwood Forest. Whether the size of it is more daunting on paper or in person is difficult to say, all he knows is that finding a handful of bandits within its cover will prove to be a herculean task at the very least. The wind picks up, knocking the open shutters against the wall, and drawing Arthur's attention out the window. He hopes the coming rain clouds will blow over and preserve any tracks Robin Hood and his men might have left during their escape earlier today.

Today. The very thought of all that has transpired in the past twelve hours is enough to draw out a sigh from the king. He packs up his plans, along with any thoughts on tomorrow, before moving behind his changing screen to prepare for bed. As he is finishing up, he hears the door open and close, and the shuffle of familiar footsteps bustling around the room like a mouse frantically scavenging before the cat turns up.

Arthur comes out from behind the screen, furrowing his brow when he sees Merlin setting a pile of linens on the divan situated in the corner of the room.

"Merlin."

With much satisfaction, Arthur watches as Merlin spins around so fast, he's surprised the boy doesn't take flight, "Sire!" He fidgets with the blanket in his hands. "I didn't know you were back."

"Clearly," Arthur walks towards Merlin, inspecting the pillow and sheets behind him. "You know, Merlin, you might not think so, but I can be an understanding person. I realize that everyone has their own issues to deal with, personal conflicts to tend to. But when something arises and you need to run off, rather than lying to my face, you could try...oh I don't know...being honest. That doesn't mean I need, and frankly I don't _want_, the details, but even the vague truth is better than a lie."

Merlin raises his eyebrows, "You...won't be curious? Ask questions?"

"No, because I am not a girl, Merlin. Your gossip doesn't intrigue me."

"Not even a little? I could be hiding a secret so riveting it would blow your pants off."

"I know you better than anyone," he sets a hand on Merlin's shoulder, "so I can rest easy knowing that you are as boring as they come."

"Boring...well, that's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Mundane, stodgy, prosaic. Any of those suit your fancy better?"

"I don't know, does pompous ass suit yours?"

"By the way," says Arthur, glancing at the divan before heading towards his bed, "if you think you're sleeping in here, you had better think again." He climbs beneath his covers.

Merlin starts to snuff out the lights in the room, "No, of course not, I would never think that. And why would I? I mean, I would never want to sleep in the same room as you, I suffer enough of your snoring when we're traveling. Can't catch a wink with you around. I just wanted to make sure you had sufficient bedding, that's all."

"Merlin?"

"Yes, sire?"

"Shut up."

The room grows darker as Merlin extinguishes more of the sconces, leaving only the moon's glow, filtered by the storm clouds, to illuminate the room. When he's finished, he puts the douter away before tip-toeing across the floor and silently slipping his boots off.

Arthur squints one eye open upon hearing him rustle about, watching his silhouette as he settles down onto the chaise lounge, "What are you doing?"

"I'm just checking these linens for bugs," Merlin whispers. "Can never be too careful."

"You have your own bed," says Arthur in his full voice. "In your own room."

Merlin does not respond at first and Arthur cannot make out Merlin's form any more, it fades into the darkness of the divan. Finally he can be heard from the shadows, "I don't like that they placed the knights in a different hall than you. And you have _Nottingham_ guards outside your door."

"You don't trust them."

"Not with your life, no."

Arthur sighs, he has always struggled with being able to scold Merlin for his genuine concern, and is too tired to bother arguing, "If I hear one peep out of you..." He settles into his pillow, allowing his body to relax for the first time in days. While traveling, not only is the ground uncomfortable to sleep on, but there is the constant threat of danger arriving at any time, in any form. Every twig snapping or leaf crunching beneath the weight of something would be a cause for alarm, but here, as silence takes holds of the room, he finds himself giving into sleep's hold quite easily.

"Why did Robin Hood call you _Wart_?" Merlin suddenly asks, shattering the placidity of the night. "It's an odd nickname, isn't it? I mean, I think I have a few of those on my feet, but I wouldn't name someone after them."

"Merlin..." Arthur groans.

"Do you know him? Like you know Marian?"

Arthur grabs a pillow and thrusts it across the room at Merlin before shoving his head beneath a second pillow to muffle any further attempts he might have at conversation. There, protected from anymore distractions, Arthur feels his limbs become heavy and his mind starts to drift between the stresses of reality and the beauty of the fantasy world; from the swaying ropes of the gallows to the fresh lapping waves of the seaside, the clanging of metal against metal to the bird's song floating in the summer breeze, the crooked grin studded with gold to the soft lips that curve in a gentle smile...that smile which brought more joy to his soul than he knew he was ever capable of, but is now only a memory. He can keep himself from saying her name, but he cannot keep her from walking his dreams.

* * *

With a jolt, Arthur wakes. He cannot tell what time it is from underneath the pillow that stills lays securely over his head, or what it is that has jarred him from his slumber, but the lethargy lingering in his bones tells him there is still much sleep to be had. A loud thump sounds as his bed gives another jolt, and he knows there is only one to blame for this.

"_Merlin_," Arthur growls, ripping the pillow off his head and rolling over onto his back. Above him, a flaming arrow sticks into the post of his bed nearest the open window, and beside him, pinning the mound of blankets to the mattress is another, the fire quickly spreading. He throws off the covers, scrambling out of bed so fast he nearly loses his footing, "Merlin!"

The arrow lodged into the bed frame must have been the first to hit, its flame already consuming the overhead canopy. Arthur shakes Merlin roughly until he begins to rouse.

"Get up!" He yanks Merlin to his feet, who, as the situation at hand is realized, grabs the basin from the side table and splashes it onto the bed, deterring the raging flames very little. Arthur knocks the bowl from his hands and shoves him towards the door. "It's going to take more than that!"

Merlin grabs onto the door handle, struggling against it, but it will not open, "Arthur!"

Arthur moves to take his place, but suddenly flattens against the door as another arrow goes whizzing by, just barley missing them, and sticking itself into the wardrobe. Checking for signs of anymore coming, he sees the coast is clear, and steps back to yank on the handle, but it doesn't budge. There is no use trying to kick it open, he thinks, they would not have the leverage they needed unless they were on the outside. Beside him, he hears Merlin whispering to himself. And if it's a prayer he spouts so feverishly, Arthur hopes he includes him in it.

Behind them, the fire swells, its heat radiating out from the bed and melting them like wax, drenching them in seconds as their bodies perspire in a futile attempt to keep them cool. It will not take long for them to be cooked, and Arthur's desperation grows. He beats against the door, kicking, pounding, wrenching, but it is unyielding.

"Something is barricading the door!" Arthur says over the rush of the flames. He runs to the second window, which is closed, and flings open the shutters, careful to stay out of sight in case another archer has his bow fixed on it. A billow of smoke floods out the new opening, enveloping Arthur, and sending him into a fit of coughs, but he does not let it debilitate him. He waves a hand in front of the window, and when no arrows are shot, he quickly leans out the window, checking to see how far the drop is to the ground below, which turns out to be too far to jump, or if there might be a balcony to climb out onto, but there is nothing within reach. He sucks in a deep breath of fresh air before pulling himself back inside.

"Merlin!" The room is now filled with dense black fog, making it difficult to distinguish anything but the occasional fleeting shadow when the smoke shifts and thins momentarily. One such shadow lies in a heap against the base of the door, and only the sounds of a hacking cough lets Arthur know his friend is still conscience. He gets down on the floor, where the air doesn't seem so stifling, and crawls his way across the room, starting to rely on his sense of hearing above his sight as the intensity of the smoke and soot burn his eyes and send tears rushing down his face.

His hand reaches out, searching blindly, until it latches onto Merlin's boney arm, hauling him away from the door and dragging him toward the open window where they might be able to salvage themselves a few more minutes of life. The floor has become hot with the heat of the growing fire, its traction slick against Arthur's clawing and sweaty hand, the air around them heavy and dry, burning their throats as they try to gulp in any bit of oxygen they can, only to expel it immediately in a fit of coughs that rack their entire bodies. His head starts to swim, and his limbs struggle to lift themselves against their own cumbersome weight, making him wonder if death really does emulate falling asleep to a certain degree. He readjusts to situate an arm securely around Merlin's torso and continues to drag him along as he inches his way towards the window. He will not let Merlin die this way.

He hears Merlin say something, and though he is right next to him, Arthur cannot make out the words he is trying to get out between gasps. His voice sounds distant, pleading, despairing, and as possibly his last words, Arthur wishes with all his might he could understand them.

Without warning, a violent rush of wind stirs the room, ash and dust striking Arthur's face as it swirls around them. He shifts to lie over top of Merlin who has suddenly stopped coughing, his body going still along with it, shielding him from the onslaught. The tempest howls, blowing more forcefully, but the air that lashes at Arthur's bare back is no longer laced with the sweltering heat that licked at their bodies like whips, instead it is refreshing and cool, sending a wave of relief over him and filling his lungs with new life. He coughs, choking on his own desperation for pure air.

Then, as quickly as it rose, the wind falls still; flames no longer crackling, smoke no longer assaulting his lungs. The room is as fresh as a cool, spring morning.

"Merlin?" Arthur whispers hoarsely. He cups his friend's face, but still cannot see him, his bleary eyes only burning and flooding with more tears when he tries to open them. He pats his cheek repeatedly with a trembling hand, but gets no response. A sour taste forms in his mouth, his stomach rolling, "Merlin, say something."

In the stillness, he can hear voices out in the hallway and the rattling of the door handle.

"My Lord!?" Sir Leon yells through the door, followed by a few loud knocks. "Arthur, are you in there!? Can you hear me!?"

The dryness in his throat threatens to silence him, but he pushes his voice out with as much force as he can muster, "Y-yes!"

"Are you clear of the door!?"

"Yes!" He barely gets the word out before a loud crash echoes through the chamber, accented with splintering wood, and the rush of multiple sets of footsteps filtering in. A strong pair of hands ease him away from Merlin.

"Sire?" Percival says, "Are you alright?"

Arthur squirms in his grasp, the inability to see almost too much to bear, "Merlin...is he...?"

"He's alive for now," Gwaine says, "but he needs attention." Something stirs beside him, and as much as Arthur would like to believe it is Merlin waking up, he knows it is more likely that Gwaine is lifting him off the ground. He tries to keep his eyes open to see for certain, but only blurry images waver in front of him. Percival's hands grab Arthur's face to keep him looking forward.

"Can you see me, Arthur?"

"No...sometimes..."

"Let me see him," Marian's voice appears beside him, the scent of lavender and pine following after her. Her petite hands replace Percival's, and she uses her thumb to force one of Arthur's eyes wide open, drawing out a cry of pain from the king. He knocks her hands away, squeezing his eyes shut. "Sir Elyan, can you fetch me a pitcher of water? We will need to flush his eyes."

"Is Merlin still here?" Arthur asks.

"Gwaine took him to the infirmary," Leon says, his voice lofty, probably standing over them. "Rest assured that we are doing everything we can to figure out what happened, sire. Sir Guy is outside checking the perimeter with his men as we speak."

"I know what happened. No one needs to tell me," says Arthur, the blood in his veins hot, not a result of the fire's blaze, but from the swelling resolve in his gut. "Robin Hood tried to kill me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The sun has not yet broken through the dark veil of early morning, leaving the duty of illuminating the throne room to a few hastily lit sconces. Camelot's knights, lacking their usual pristine grooming stand in yesterday's wrinkled clothes, most likely snatched off the ground on their way out the door at first word of the fire, their hair unkempt, and faces grim, surrounding their king, whose sight has returned though his eyes remain bloodshot. Arthur keeps his gaze on Lord Vaisey, the only other person in the room. The white-haired man sags in his seat and rubs his tired eyes.

"I should have known Hood would try to pull something. To thwart my efforts and steal my victory," he says. "Luckily for me, Pendragons do not die so easily."

"Luckily for us all," Gwaine corrects him.

The steward dismisses him with a wave of his hand, clearly in no mood for sentiment. Behind the knights, a large wooden door groans on its hinges as it opens and Sir Guy strides through with a battered man in tow.

"Ah, Gisbourne!" Lord Vaisey sits taller. "I was hoping you wouldn't prove to be a disappointment. I've learned not to hold my breath, but here you are. Come with a present, have you? I do love when you surprise me. Who is he?"

"One of Hood's men," Guy shoves the man to his knees in front of the throne. "Found him skulking around the bailey. His escape route must have been compromised."

Arthur studies the man, walking around in front of him; crouched on all fours like a cowering dog, the bandit's hands tremble against the floor, covered in dirt that seeps beneath his nails and smeared with bits of blood that traces across his knuckles. The man keeps his head bowed, but Arthur can hear the faintest whimper lacing his staggered breaths. Arthur's brow knits together at the display. He had expected Robin Hood's merry men to show a stronger sense of fortitude, as they had in the courtyard only last evening. "Are you certain?"

Guy's face darkens, "I would not have brought him before you if I wasn't, but perhaps you know better. What are my years of involvement to your majesty's expansive experience of several hours?" The two men lock eyes, neither one eager to be the first to secede.

The steward whistles, "Gisbourne...down, boy, down."

"I meant no offense," Arthur says, his tone unable to soften against his irritation. "But this man lacks the bearings of the men we met yesterday."

"Of course, he does," says Guy. "The scarcity of his arrogance and agility is exactly why we were able to catch him. Now that he is abandoned by Hood and lying beneath our boot, his pride has no room to stand." Guy jams his foot into the man's rib, pushing him over with a quick jerk of his leg.

Arthur moves back around the bandit's body, herding Gisbourne away from him, "No matter what his affiliation, he is a man and deserving of some respect."

Guy does not back down easily, but rather stands his ground despite Arthur's close proximity, holding his head high to take full advantage of his height, "You forget he would have you dead."

"I forget nothing," says Arthur, "but his coming judgment will serve as sufficient penance."

The two do not break eye contact, looking at one another long and hard, before Guy finally takes a small step back, "As you wish, your majesty."

Arthur nods his thanks and turns to the man lying on the floor, "On your feet." As the man slowly pushes himself off the ground, and struggles to find his footing, the knights all draw their swords, keeping the tips pointed at their prisoner. There will be no more mishaps this morning.

"A pathetic specimen, isn't he?" Lord Vaisey muses from his seat.

"What is your name?" Arthur asks, resting his hands on his hips. When he receives no response, he steps in closer to capture the man's wandering attention, "The more you cooperate, the easier this will be. So I ask again, what is your name?"

The man's eyes flicker from Arthur, to Sir Guy behind him, then back, "Robin Hood."

Arthur sighs, he should know better than to expect a smooth interrogation, but the events of the night weigh down on his tired shoulders. "We all know that's not true."

"It is," the man insists. "Robin Hood is he, and Robin Hood is us all."

The steward laughs, a hardy laugh, "Now if that doesn't sound like the premise to a frightful nightmare..."

"Sire," Sir Leon steps forward. "Perhaps it would be best to delegate the inquiry to someone else so that you can go seek out further rest."

It never ceases to amaze Arthur the perceptive nature Leon possesses. He is the one that has stood by Arthur's side the longest of the knights, and he's sure even the smallest slump in his shoulders or sag in his stance gives tell of his fatigue.

"You will be of no use if you are deprived of energy," he continues.

Arthur nods, "A change of plans then. Sir Leon, you and the others, along with Sir Guy if he is willing to volunteer his aid," he breaks from his instructions to get Guy's response, which is a simple bow of his head, "will question this man about the location of the outlaws' camp and any other information you think might be pertinent." He switches his focus to single out one of the knights, "Gwaine, meet me in the courtyard this afternoon. No armor. We'll see if we can't sniff out some signs of Hood's activity in nearby villages."

"You're sure you don't want all of us to accompany you?" Percival asks.

"We are not looking for a fight," says Arthur. "The fewer of us there are, the less likely it is that we will be detected."

"Incognito..." Lord Vaisey thinks. "Gisbourne, why didn't you ever think to try that? It seems to be a fairly basic tactic. Throw a bit a pink into your wardrobe and he'd never suspect it to be you."

"I don't recall your lordship ever suggesting it."

"Yes, well, I suppose it would take a little more effort to camouflage a gangly, beaked thing like you." Sir Guy says nothing to that, but instead moves to secure the prisoner in his grasp, preparing to escort him back to the cells.

"My Lord Steward," Arthur says, stepping around Guy and the bandit to give a bow, "I thank you for your quick response to the situation earlier, and I apologize for interrupting your night."

"I have doubled my guard, and I do hope you find the new location of your chambers to be a bit more secure so that you may rest easy."

"I'm sure I will, thank you."

Sir Guy drags the prisoner back through the ground level doors with the knights in tow, except for Elyan who falls into step beside his king.

"Elyan," Arthur glances at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, sire."

"I know interrogating a man isn't exactly your preferred way to pass the time, but I'm afraid if I let you lie down with me the others will think I show favoritism."

Elyan laughs, "I just thought, given the circumstances, you might find better sleep if you knew a Camelot knight watches your door." Those words bring a small smile to Arthur's face and he pats Elyan's back before heading up the stairs with him.

* * *

The halls are still dark and coated in crispness, as if the morning dew has slipped through the cracks of the windows and chilled the air. It is clear much of the castle is still asleep, unaware of the mayhem that plagued the northeast wing earlier, but as the two men round a corner, they see a single door is propped open its light flooding across the hallway and up the wall on the other side. Elyan does not slow his pace as they approach it, but Arthur does, and then he stops.

Inside, he can see either side of the room is lined with beds of white linen and separated by wooden end tables, all adorned with various bottles holding liquids of different tinctures, presumably brought from the store cabinets at the end of the room to accommodate each individual's needs. There are only three people in there right now; a woman propped up almost into a sitting position, though it is clear she is fast asleep, a man who has bled through and stained a portion of the sheet at his chest, which a few nurses pull up to cover his face, and a young man lying flat on his back, still as ice and as pale as a winter's haze. Merlin.

A presence comes to stand beside Arthur, and he knows it is Elyan. He doesn't say anything and Arthur doesn't want him to. Instead, they both look in at their friend, stationary on the outside, but fighting desperately to return to them on the inside – or so he hopes.

After several minutes, Elyan's voice breaks the silence, "Arthur..."

The informality makes Arthur turn to look at him and he is met with a pair of eyes identical to the ones that once brought him so much comfort in the past; deep pools, dark as night, but with the warmth of a thousand suns.

"You need to get some sleep."

Arthur nods, but gives Merlin one last look, hoping that in that instant he will wake and soothe all worries, but instead he remains unchanged. Abandoning the doorway, Arthur continues to his chambers, which he finds is smaller than the last room he was given, but is contained entirely within the protection of the castle, leaving him without windows, and with any luck, without threat. Elyan remains in the hallway as Arthur disappears into the blackness of the unlit room before him.

* * *

That afternoon, the day seems brighter to Arthur as he prepares his horse to ride out with Gwaine, no thanks to the sun which has decided to stay concealed behind the grey storm clouds that spit every now and then, but rather because of the little extra time in bed and the large meal that now satisfies his stomach. He was able to wash the last of the soot from his body before reclaiming the much needed sleep he had lost, all without the worry of a flaming arrow penetrating his room. The lack of windows in his new chambers is both a comfort to him and dispiriting. He never likes the feeling of being closed in, preferring the open air and daylight.

"Merlin would be proud," Marian says as she walks up to stroke the nose of his horse. "Did you dress all by yourself?"

"I'm a king, not a fool."

"Unfortunately, those two qualities aren't always mutually exclusive."

Arthur laughs, "What's unfortunate is how often that's true. Perhaps you should tell me if I have been successful in my attempts at it."

"Well, conveniently, that's what I've come to find out..." She lifts the hood of her cloak to cover her brown curls, the raindrops falling more steadily down upon the courtyard, and drifts closer to him, petting the mane of his steed as she approaches. There is something in her manner, the way she hides under the cover of the woolen fabric or glances around with cautious eyes amidst her nonchalance, that makes Arthur think there is more to this encounter than a friendly jest.

"Is something the matter?"

She smiles, but it appears more ironic than genuine, "I'm afraid we don't have time to get into the complexities of that question."

"Marian, if something is wrong, you can tell me. I'm here to help," he stops, it suddenly dawning on him. "Or is this about Merlin? Did you just come from the infirmary?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's actually about...last night," she lifts her eyes to meet his. "But I wanted to wait until I could get you alone."

Arthur nods, a bit relieved she had not come to pronounce any deaths, "What about last night?"

She hesitates, and there is a moment where Arthur is not sure she will even say anything at all, "Have you considered the possibility that it may not have been Robin who shot those arrows?"

Arthur cannot seem to think of a reason why she would single him out to confess her uncertainties about the person at fault. She even chose to bring it up now and here, in the rain, which has deterred people from occupying the square as they normally would at this time of day, leaving little risk of them being overheard.

"I know I am not without my share of enemies," Arthur admits, "but given my purpose here and our encounter earlier yesterday, it seems most likely that he should be the one to want me dead."

"You think very little of Robin now, don't you?" She asks. "Even after all our time together as children, you give him no benefit of the doubt."

The threads slowly begin to come together. She is not confessing her uncertainties out of concern for him, but out of concern for someone else, someone whose allegiance would cause her incrimination.

"You are still friends, aren't you?" He scratches his temple, using it as a cover to turn and see if anyone is nearby, returning his gaze to her when the coast is clear. "You and Robin."

"Yes," she answers simply and without shame.

"So that's what this is about," he says. "And here I thought you had come to send me off with your best wishes, offer me luck..."

"I'm sorry to have wounded your pride, but we cannot waste what little time we have alone, unobserved, on niceties of etiquette."

Arthur raises his eyebrows and rests his arm across his horse's saddle, "Ah, I see. Talking to me is part of etiquette now, is it? Well that is far more flattering than mere friendship."

"You're twisting my words."

"Marian, Robin Hood is not worth risking your life over. He has made poor choices. He is a wanted outlaw, and if the steward ever finds out-"

She visibly bristles with anger, like a cat whose hair suddenly stands on end, "I do not pick my friends based on the approval of the steward, but by their merit. And it is by _your_ merit," she sizes Arthur up as she steps in closer, "or at least what I hope it to be, that I am even having, or _trying_ to have, this conversation with you. Because I trust you. But if I have judged you wrongly then forgive me, and tell me now, so that I might prepare myself for the steward's wrath once you have informed him of my apparent treason."

Arthur leans back, unaware he would strike such a nerve, and afraid of becoming collateral damage amidst her fury. This conversation has obviously not gone how either of them had intended for it to. Her cheeks flush, either from her passion or the embarrassment of allowing that passion to rise to the surface, perhaps both, but she does not apologize.

"I should have guessed you two were still familiar," Arthur says. He reaches out to lift the edge of her hood, which had fallen over her face, so that he might see her steely blue eyes more clearly, "I hear he has a charm that is not easily shaken off."

She swats his hand away, "Do not mistake me for a girl with weak knees, Arthur Pendragon-"

"I would never."

"You make it very difficult not to become infuriated with you," she says with a sigh, taking a moment to collect herself. "Please...before I say anything more on the subject, I must know," her eyes flicker away for the first time since she approached him, her voice softening as her anger deflates, "have I placed my faith in a man who will trust me or indict me?"

He lets out a breath, wiping some of the rain water from his face, "Yesterday I condemned a man to the gallows for associating with Robin Hood. Wouldn't I be a man of inconsistent honor if I allowed this to pass freely?"

"No, you would be a man who takes responsibility for his mistakes. I think you and I both know Brom's sentence was a lapse in your character," she says. "I was there. I saw it. Had the steward not been there, not brought Morgana into it, you'd have granted him clemency." When Arthur doesn't respond, she continues, "We were just fortunate that Robin came-"

"_Fortunate_?" Arthur goes rigid at the word, "Don't glorify the things he does. He killed two men in that skirmish, castle guards, and I doubt their families would consider Robin's appearance 'fortunate,' nor would Merlin who, if you recall, had a blade pressed to his throat."

"He saved that innocent man's life! And you don't even _know _what else-"

"He tried to _kill_ me last night, Marian!" Now it is Arthur's turn to collect himself, thankful that the steady hum the rainfall is there to conceal their voices. "Look, I understand loyalties are difficult to abandon. Honestly, I do, I have struggled with it myself, which is why I'm going to give you time to rethink your allegiances."

"Arthur, please...just _listen_ to what I am trying to say."

"No, you listen to me," says Arthur, "You need to take special care in who you chose to stand beside, if not for your own sake then for Leofrick's."

Marian looks to the castle, and Arthur follows her gaze. Standing obediently in the doorway, just beneath the cover of the threshold stands little Leofrick, who bounces on his toes and repeatedly juts his hand out into the rain, which has begun to pour freely, before retracting it with a loud giggle and wiping it off on his tunic.

"He's in more danger with the steward than he is with Robin."

"The steward?" Arthur furrows his brow, its creases deepening at the implications, "Marian, what are you talking about?"

"Like I said, maybe it wasn't Robin who attacked last night," she meets his eyes again. "Before you do anything rash, just be sure you are trusting the right people, Arthur."

His stomach churns at the all too familiar notion and he opens his mouth to respond, but a lazy arm falls slack across Arthur's shoulder as Gwaine appears at his side, soaking wet. He gives Arthur a friendly pat on the chest, "All saddled and ready to go, sire." He flicks his hair out of his face and immediately notices Marian, "Oh," Letting go of Arthur, he steps back, "Did I interrupt?"

"No, I was just wishing the two of you safety on behalf of myself and the king," she motions to Leofrick still at the door.

"Right, then," Gwaine smiles, giving the small king a wave, before turning back to them, "I thought you might have been bringing us news on our lad, Merlin."

"Oh," Marian nods. "Yes, he has yet to wake, but has regained some of his color."

Gwaine smiles, "Well that's good to hear, isn't it?" He backhands Arthur's arm.

"Excellent," he agrees, though it lacks enthusiasm. His mind is clouded with other matters, ones that not only concern the well-being of Merlin, but of them all. In a world of faces, it is difficult to distinguish genuine flesh among the turbulent seas of porcelain masks. Put your faith in the wrong person and you will be drowned.

"Nurse and nanny..." Gwaine says, his smile creeping wider, "You must be busy. When does a lovely lady like yourself ever stop to enjoy a drink at the tavern?"

"You're sharing a drink with me today, Gwaine," Arthur says to spare Marian the need of offering a reply. "Let's focus on that, huh?" He spins the knight around and shoves him towards the horse he had outfitted for himself.

"Another time, my lady!"

"Your men have a charm all their own, it seems," she says, watching Gwaine climb onto his saddle. She meets Arthur's eyes once more, and it is clear she has more to say, but rather than speak up, she turns to head inside.

"Marian," Arthur reaches out to grab her arm, stopping her in her tracks. He quiets his voice, "Do whatever it takes to bring Merlin round. Please."

She stares at him, "Arthur...are you sure?"

"Whatever it takes. I know you can do it." He pauses before adding, "I trust you."

There is hesitation, but she finally nods with a faint smile, "As you wish."

He bows his head in thanks, releasing her arm, and mounts onto his respective horse. Their stay in Nottingham will not end well if Arthur does not have his voice of reason to nag him along the way, and he hopes he will not have to be without him for much longer. Giving one last look towards the castle doors, he sees Marian standing with Leofrick, who raises his wooden toy dagger into the air to send him off with a proper tribute. Arthur smiles. He unsheathes his own sword, Leofrick's eyes widening at its splendor, and raises it into the sky.

* * *

Tucked safely within the walls of the castle, there in the infirmary, amidst his personal oblivion, a touch of heat enters into Merlin's chest, spreading like warm molasses over his body until he becomes aware. Not just of flames and dreams, but of cool air again his cheek, the rain pitter-pattering against the roof. And voices. Distant voices that slowly draw near.

"He's so pale..." a male voice says from above him.

"No, I think he's always like that," says another. As he draws into consciousness, Merlin begins to not only hear the people around him, but recognize them as well. He urges his own voice to respond, for his eyes to open. He cannot be sure how long they have been out of use. A few minutes? Days? He cannot even be sure where he is, though the padding beneath him is too soft to be the stone floor of the bed chamber.

"It's a good thing Arthur isn't here to see him like this," Sir Leon says, "So drawn and frail."

"Honestly," Percival insists, "I think he's always like that."

With a little effort, Merlin takes control of his body, "I'm...flattered..." he croaks, his eyes fluttering open. Above him, the three knights spring away from the sides of the bed; Leon is already laughing with joy, while Elyan leans back in as if to ensure this is no joke, and Percival grabs his face to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"Bless you!" he says, "These two thought you were done for, but I knew. I knew you wouldn't meet your end like this."

"We didn't think you were _done __for_," Sir Leon defends, exchanging a glance with Elyan.

"Right, we just...knew not to hold you to Arthur's standards," he says.

"Arthur..." Merlin suddenly lifts his head to look around, "Where is he? Is he alright?" Percival and Leon each rest a hand on one of his shoulders, guiding him to lie back down.

"Arthur's fine," says Leon. "He was blinded temporarily, but Marian here got him put right in no time. He was able to walk out of that scorched wasteland on his own two feet." Merlin looks between the three of them, hardly able to believe that Arthur was effected so little. Then again, he remembers the feel of the chamber doors against his hands, immovable, solid, frozen shut despite the inferno around them. A powerful magic that rejected his own attempts to free them. Not only did it reject his efforts, but it took more than was given, sucking the very life from his body as if a spile had been stabbed into him, determined to run him dry.

Elyan offers a sympathetic look, "Don't feel too poorly, Merlin."

"The man is a legend for a reason," Percival says. "No one blames you for passing out."

"Even if it was for the better half of a day," says Leon says with a faint grin.

"That's enough you three," Marian pushes her way in front of Percival and smiles down at Merlin. She dabs his face and neck with a cool cloth, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he says, his brow drawing together as he really thinks about his answer. "I feel...great, actually." There is no pounding in his head, no burning in his lungs, nor does his chest feel constricted, but rather it feels like he could suck in enough breath to last him a lifetime if he wanted to. His eyes are clear and moist, and not a single ounce of him seems to be charred. It is a strange sensation to be of health, but feel as though you are not deserving of it.

He thinks back to last night, the room becoming an insufferable vacuum of heat and smoke, and the spell he uttered as he was being drawn under. _Deat__á__ch a bhe__ï__th imith__é_. It must have been enough, if Arthur was spared any harm, but Merlin had been sure it would be his own end.

"You seem confused," Leon says.

"Oh," Merlin glances around at all of them, unaware that the feelings of his internal monologue had shown through, "Just...wasn't expecting to be alive, I suppose."

"I was given very clear instructions to make sure you came through this," Marian says, filling a glass of water for him when she sees him smacking his cracked lips. "So I worked a bit of my magic, and here you are."

Sir Leon props a few of Merlin's pillows behind him as he shifts to sit up, and Marian hands him the cup. He chugs down the water, letting out a satisfied breath when it falls empty. "Thank you. For all that you've done. I know you must have your hands full tending to the king."

"Well if I didn't get you on your feet, who would tend to _your_ king?" she smiles, glancing around at the knights. "One of you?" The three men all exchange looks with one another.

"I tend to be more of the advising type than the nurturing type," Leon says, clearing his throat, "So I'm sure I would be of little use to him, but Percival has a knack for fostering others. I've seen it."

"No," Percival quickly deflects the suggestion, shaking his head. "I'm a rubbish chef and were it not for the skilled hands of servants, my chambers would be a sty. Elyan, however, is a man of many skills, aren't you?"

Elyan opens his mouth to speak, but is at a loss for words. "I...yeah, but..." Merlin can see him searching for any rationalization out. "Arthur...he has a lot of hair, and I...I wouldn't know what to do with it," he admits as though its a shame, running a hand over his shortly cropped scalp with a shrug.

"His _hair_?" Percival asks. "That's why you won't serve your king?"

"You're a pig. I hardly think that's a good excuse either."

Marian leans down to Merlin as the knights continue their discussion, whispering, "Let us hope Arthur is never without you."

"He won't be as long as I can help it, my lady."

"-I can't cook!" Percival reiterates now that it has escalated into a full blown argument.

"Wait, wait," Leon holds his hands out to silence his friends. "What about Gwaine?" The very thought of it sends them all, including Merlin, into a fit of boisterous laughter that fills the infirmary. Marian, suppressing her own amusement, tries to quiet the men so they don't disturb the recovery of the others around them. They choke back their remaining laughs, and look around to see if they've won the disapproval of anyone.

"Honestly," says Marian. "You will have to behave if you're going to stay in here. Don't you three have a bandit to question anyway?" The knights' faces fall at those words and they exchange glances with one another. Percival scratches the back of his head, while Elyan suddenly takes interest in his shoes, and Merlin can see the immediate regret on Marian's face as her own smile gives way. He was not even aware they had one of Hood's men in custody, but knows now is not the time to ask for clarification. The pieces are simple enough to fall into place on their own.

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, "I...sorry, did I-"

"No," Leon is quick to soothe her nerves. "You've said nothing wrong, my lady. It's just...he was being uncooperative, so we decided to take a break. After we had eaten, when we returned to continue the inquisition, we found him in his cell." He pauses, careful to proceed with discretion. "He had used one of the utensils from his meal to take his own life."

Marian rests a hand on her stomach as she sinks down onto the vacant bed beside Merlin's. He can only assume she feels the same nausea he does. Something about this doesn't sit right in his gut, and for him it is more than the tragedy of a man seeing no end brighter than death, but the fact that it was magic that almost killed him and Arthur last night, not arrows, the cloying bitterness of its power lingering in the air even now, and that their only link to possibly revealing that is dead.

"We are sorry to be the ones to deliver this somber news, my lady," says Leon. "But you are right, there are matters we should be attending to." He rests a hand on Merlin's shoulder, "Rest and get well. We miss having you at our side."

Merlin nods, too deep in thought to respond with words. He watches as the knight's file out of the room before turning his attention to Marian. The tact Leon was able to place in his words is difficult for Merlin to muster, so he simply asks, "Are prisoners always given silverware?"

"No," Marian answers so quickly Merlin is sure she must have already been thinking about it. Her voice is strong, almost angry, not timid as he had expected it to be. "Nor does any of Robin Hood's men end their own lives. I have seen enough to know the outlaws value life above all else. No man left behind. The right to fight for survival. And to endure."

"That seems honorable," says Merlin. "Not far from what the knights of Camelot believe."

There are few people in the infirmary now, aside from a few sleeping patients and a nurse or two, but Marian takes care to see if any of them are watching before she moves to sit on the edge of Merlin's bed, quieting her voice, "Yesterday evening, I saw you in the hallway. Eavesdropping."

Merlin feels his ears burn and his face grows hot, "I...no. No, I wasn't. That's not what I was doing at all. I was, um, on my way to Arthur's chambers, but, well, if you knew me, you'd know that I have a bit of trouble with directions, and Sir Guy, well he's not the most approachable of blokes, is he? So when I saw him, I thought to myself-"

"I know the face of someone when they are lost, and I know the face of someone when they are spying. Would you like to try another defense?"

"Sorry," says Merlin, dropping all pretenses, "I was worried. I could tell from the moment we arrived that Sir Guy didn't like Arthur, and in the life of a king, being found unfavorable can quickly turn into a dangerous situation. But I meant no harm."

Rather than scold him as he suspected, she smiles and gets up from the bed, "Arthur is fortunate to have you, indeed."

"You're not upset?"

"With your devotion to your friend? Merlin, really, you need to get to know me better."

"It seems I'm starting to," says Merlin. He sits up taller when he realizes that she is preparing to leave. "Where is Arthur now?"

"He and Sir Gwaine set off hours ago to visit the villages," she says, stopping at the foot of his bed to untie the apron from her waist. "I think he is hoping to hear word of Robin's recent activity or whereabouts, but I wouldn't expect him to return with vast amounts of new insight."

Merlin frowns, "Why not?"

"Robin Hood and his men have more supporters than you might think." She hangs her apron up on a peg. "But I'm sure when he returns, and sees you are doing well, he will pleased regardless."

"Oh yes. Thrilled. His boots won't shine themselves, after all."

"Especially not after being out in this weather," she nods out the window, where sheets of rain pour down from the blackened sky. Merlin scowls when he thinks about the mud that will be caked up to Arthur's knees. "Don't think about that now though. Focus on restoring your energy, then you can turn your efforts to Arthur's boots." She smiles and walks out the door, leaving Merlin to ponder what to do from here. The mission his two friends are on doesn't particularly reek of danger, but whatever the case, he is incapable of sitting quietly while Arthur is out. If he and Gwaine were to encounter magic, and the person Merlin fears holds it, they would be defenseless without him there.

He throws the covers aside and hops out of bed, pausing to gather his bearings and ensure he is fit to continue, but he doesn't falter in the slightest. Glancing to the bedside table, is it difficult to determine what it is that Marian gave him for his recovery, but it appears to have worked wonders he didn't know were possible. Turning his head, he stares at the door she disappeared through, a faint inkling creeping to the forefront of his mind. He shakes it from his thoughts, knowing there are bigger things at hand at the moment.

It is a bit of a walk to his chambers, which he must make in nothing but the nightshirt the infirmary must have dressed him in upon his admittance, making it quite an uncomfortable stroll. His gait becomes pigeon-toed, as if the lack of free movement will keep the winds at bay and the fabric from flying up to expose him. If he was in Camelot, it would be a far more shameful experience, one the knights would never let him live down, but the fact that he knows very few people here is almost a comfort. The thought perks him up, turning his toes back to the front, and making him walk a little taller despite the guards' scoffs and the maids' turning red.

True freedom returns, however, when he is able to spring from his room fully clothed in his usual garb. He doesn't know exactly where Arthur will be or how he intends to track him down, but he starts by making a run for the stables, knowing he will cover much more ground on the back of a horse than on his own two feet.

* * *

The rest of the day passes uneventfully, and as night descends, Arthur and Gwaine escape the rain and the monotony to sit down in a small tavern tucked away in a village compiled of little more than a blacksmith, a few farmers, and a mill. So it comes as a surprise when most of the tables inside are full, many patrons probably passing through on the main road that runs through the forest just outside. In the middle of the floor, however, the two manage to find an open spot and takes their seats. The fact that it is also situated near the service bar is realized to Gwaine's utmost delight.

"It was a few winter's ago, but I knew she'd remember me," says Gwaine when he returns from fetching them a few tankards. He glances over his shoulder at a young woman, who tries her best not to show interest, but betrays herself by casting several glances their way as she cleans up the counter. "I guess that's what happens when you have looks like mine." He flashes a cheeky grin and leans back to enjoy the first taste of his mead.

"Are you sure it's your looks she remembers and not your stench?"

Gwaine can't help but laugh, "Don't start this again. If you're going to be a killjoy the rest of the night then, no offense sire, but I think I'll see if I fair any better with Thea over there."

Arthur glances at the barmaid again, "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

"Ah, there, see?" Gwaine rests a foot on his opposite knee, "You can always count on a woman to raise your spirits."

"Is that a motto of yours?" Arthur smiles, giving his own drink a try.

"One of many, but this one's new. I had to find one to replace 'Never trust a noble.'"

"Given that one up, have you?"

"Well it was either that or retire my rank as a knight of Camelot, but..." Gwaine takes another gulp of mead and shrugs, "I quite fancy the cape."

"That's good to hear. You would be difficult to replace," Arthur says without thinking, and the two of them fall silent, the unease of men confessing their fondness for one another becoming too much to bear. Arthur clears his throat and leans on the table, "Why is it that no one seems to want to talk about Hood? We've been all over this forest. If he's such a menace, why is it as if he doesn't even exist? No trace of him, no word of him, nothing."

"Perhaps they are afraid of being the ones to aid in his capture," Gwaine offers. "Scared into silence. I have seen it done before."

"Maybe," Arthur says, though not convinced as he thinks things through. "And you said this tavern is where you met Hood before?"

"It's been a few years, but..." he nods as he surveys the room, "this is the place." Pointing at a fireplace against the far wall, he smiles, "I picked his pocket while he was standing against that mantel waiting for his manservant. He caught me, but rather than kill me, he bought me food and a drink."

Arthur looks at the hearth, imagining the scene unfold, "Generous of him." He turns his attention back to Gwaine, "And that exchange doesn't give you any doubts about our mission?"

He seems to think that over as he leisurely sips from his mug, "I've met a lot of people, and I've seen a lot of them change. I understand one fond memory doesn't cancel out a man's transgressions. Likewise, one foul memory shouldn't be enough to ruin a man's legacy of kindness."

Arthur absently plays with the handle on his tankard, staring into the liquid as he mulls over the truth of what Gwaine, of all people, has brought to light. "That was..." Arthur nods with a smile creeping back onto his face, "Almost insightful."

"I have my moments."

The sound of the front door opening draws Arthur's attention over Gwaine's shoulder to the small band of men coming in. All dressed alike, they wear various shades of green and brown, darkened from absorbing the falling rain, and with handkerchiefs over the bottom half of their faces. Five pairs of eyes scan the room, and it is not difficult for Arthur to guess who they're looking for.

"From what I hear," Gwaine says, oblivious to the hazard behind him, "I'm not the only one with a past here. You used to come here as a young lad, didn't you? With Uther to-"

Arthur doesn't take his eyes off the men, "Stop talking."

"Look, I know you and I don't usually partake in sentimental talk, and I admit that I'm one to speak rather than listen, but I'd say we're-"

"No, shut up," Arthur looks at him. "Don't look now, but there are a crew of men in hoods watching us."

"Think their attire is a good indication of who they're working for?"

"Seems likely," Arthur says, glancing at the group once more, watching as they start towards their table.

Gwaine sets his drink down on the table with a sigh, "And we left our swords out with the horses. Brilliant."

"Nervous without your security blanket, Gwaine?"

"Only for your delicate hands, your majesty," he makes a fist, turning suddenly in his seat to jab one of the men in the kidney, causing him to double over. Gwiane knees him in the face as he gets up from his chair, shoving him back into his friends. Before Arthur can come to his aid, a second man breaks free from the group and delivers a hefty uppercut, knocking Gwaine from his feet as he spins into Arthur. The two fall into a heap on the ground. Arthur grunts as he finds himself softening Gwaine's fall.

"This is almost reminiscent of the day we first met," Gwaine muses with a smile. Arthur has no time to respond. His eyes widen and he shoves Gwaine off of him, the two springing apart just before a dagger embeds itself in the floorboards between them. Arthur scrambles to his feet as a hooded man charges at him. Using the man's momentum, Arthur grabs his arm and propels him into the service bar. He slams the man's head down against the counter.

A sharp pain radiates through Arthur's back as the crack of splintering wood fills the air. Shards of broken chair fly out from behind him. He doesn't even have a chance to crumple to the ground before a strong hand grabs the back of his vest, yanking him off of the other man, and throwing Arthur down onto the top of an occupied table. A woman screams. Out of the corners of his eyes, he can see a few patrons abandoning their tables and fleeing the tavern. Gwaine's enthusiastic grunts can still be heard as he fights his own battle somewhere nearby. A punch to the face sends Arthur's head flinging back against the weathered wood. His ears ring, dulling the ambient noise around him. Disoriented, he still manages to block the next attempt, knocking the man's arm out of the way and striking him in the nose. The man retracts with a cry of pain and Arthur thrusts the man off of him with a kick to the gut. Gwaine turns just in time to catch the reeling man and uses him as a human shield as another knife is thrown. Its blade sinks into the man's chest with a muddied thud that Arthur can almost feel the ache of within his own body. He pushes himself off the table, rushing to intercept another man before he can reach Gwaine. The man stands a good foot over the others, and Arthur's realization of his breadth must have shown on his face because a deep bellow falls out of the man's throat. He grabs the front of Arthur's tunic, but before he can get any further, Arthur drives the heel of his boot down into the fragile joints of the man's foot. He ducks to avoid a hit to the face and thrusts his knee up into the large man's gut, who doubles over. Locking his hands together, Arthur strikes down on the back of his head and shoves him to the ground. Without missing a beat, he dodges another blow from the last hooded man standing and throws his entire weight into a punch of his own, his fist smashing into the man's mouth. The man staggers back, tripping over a comrade and hitting his head on the edge of a table on his way down. The tavern falls still.

"Ah..." Arthur grimaces as he shakes out the hand throbbing from his last punch.

Gwaine grabs his shoulder, "The queen's dainty hands bothering her?"

"I think he had fangs," says Arthur. "Or bricks for teeth." They both laugh, but stop as soon as they see Thea glowering from behind the counter, her eyes wide with fear, but her face burning red with anger. Around them, the hooded men writhe and groan, while the customers who were brave enough to remain in the tavern cower in various corners.

Gwaine steps over one of the men and leans on the counter near her, "I hope this doesn't ruin what we have, you and I..."

Behind him, Arthur notices an outlaw reaching for the knife that sits only a few feet away. He grabs a clay pitcher from the counter and smashes it down onto the man's head, knocking him out for good this time. Wiping his hands off on his pants, he realizes Gwaine and Thea are both staring at him.

"Oh..." Arthur nods, clearing his throat as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, "Yes, we're very sorry. I will be sure to compensate you for any damage done here tonight." All three of them look to the door as a few more men dressed in identical hoods step inside.

"Just how big is his band of merry men?" Gwaine asks.

"Bigger than I thought."

"Out! Get out!" Thea says, "Both of you! Before you get me and my customers killed!"

Without another moment to waste, the two run towards the back of the tavern, Arthur reaching down as they go to snatch the knife that is still stuck in the floor with its hilt held up. Gwaine flings open the shutters of a window, and lets Arthur climb out first before following after him. Their boots land in inches of mud as the rain continues to pour down around them.

Arthur motions for Gwaine to follow him as he creeps to the corner of the tavern, staying low to the ground. He puts his back to the wall and pivots around the bend just enough to see the post where their horses are tethered is surrounded by Hood's men. Arthur looks down at the small dagger in his hand, flipping it over a few times, and knows it is not enough.

"Any ideas?" Gwaine whispers.

"There!" An outlaw shouts from atop his horse.

"Run!" Arthur pushes Gwaine ahead of him, and the two run as swiftly as their legs will carry them towards the cover of the forest. The mud splatters out from under them and the rain seems to strike harder against their faces as they fly across the small field. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Arthur sees a handful of mounted men trailing in their wake. As they approach a wooden fence dividing the field from the woods, the two grab a hold of the top rung and vault themselves over to flee into the maze of tree trunks.

"Two men and a knife against half a dozen armed cavalry? I've never faced quite these odds before!" Gwaine looks over at Arthur, and Arthur can't help but find amusement in the vitality that has sprung into the knight's eyes. It shines through even the darkness of the night storm. "I like a challenge!" A horse whinnies, drawing their attention behind them again. The outlaws are quickly approaching.

"Split up, but stay within earshot!" Arthur shouts before shooting around the opposite side of a tree. A mounted man charges up, nearly nipping at Arthur's heels as he attempts to keep his footing in the water-drenched soil. The distinct ring of a sword being unsheathed sounds, and Arthur instinctively ducks to avoid the man's blade as he comes along beside him. He grabs the man's arm as he passes, pulling him from his saddle. The man hits the ground hard. Arthur trips over him. The two scramble to their feet and face off. The man swings. Arthur jumps back. He readies his dagger. The man swings again and Arthur knocks it away as he advances, elbowing the man in the face and spinning to lash out – the blade of his knife cuts deep, drawing a line from the hollow of the outlaw's cheek all the way across his left ear. He howls in pain and slashes at Arthur, who grabs the hand holding the hilt of the sword and throws his elbow into the man's face again. The man concedes as he crumbles to the ground, releasing his grip on the hilt.

Arthur sprints across the forest floor, tucking the dagger into his belt and launching himself onto the now vacant horse. He rides towards the grunts and thuds of a neighboring skirmish until he sees a few silhouettes, one with an obvious, and all too familiar, fuller head of hair.

"Gwaine!"

The knight tucks and rolls to give himself some space from his opponent, and Arthur tosses him the sword, which he catches just in time to block an onslaught, the forest ringing with the clang of metal. Arthur pulls his knife back out as he circles around the fray.

Another horse is suddenly upon him and its rider leaps, knocking Arthur from his saddle as they both crash to the ground below. The force of the fall meets Arthur's back so swiftly, it casts out all his breath, and he gasps, struggling to regain it. He flexes his hand to find it is empty. He is unarmed. He gropes blindly at the muddied turf, hoping to feel the coolness of his knife, but his opponent regains himself too quickly. The man rolls over onto all fours and reaches beside him for his sword. With no breath to sustain him, Arthur can only watch.

The man curls his fingers around the hilt and the muscles in his arms shift as if to lift it, but it does not budge from the ground. The bloodthirsty glint in his eyes wane, his brow creasing in confusion when he finds someone's foot standing on the blade. It is not a hefty foot, but small and dainty. Arthur peers up through the rain, struggling to see as his eyes are doused with drops, but he makes out a lithe figure, also cloaked and hooded with a handkerchief covering their face, but they go one step further. A brown leather mask surrounds their eyes. Someone does not want to be known.

The masked man kicks the outlaw in the face, grabbing the outlaw's arm as he flips over his back with smooth acrobatics, pulling the arm free from its socket with a sickening pop, and finishing him off with sweeping kick to the side of the head.

Though finally able to use his lungs, Arthur finds he is at a loss for words, keeping his eyes on this new ally and stammering to his feet. He follows the masked man's finger as he points to the abandoned sword on the ground. Hearing quick footsteps behind him, Arthur promptly picks it up and turns to block the blade of another hooded man. He spins his sword to unlock their blades and cuts across the man's exposed torso, knocking him to the ground with his shoulder.

When he turns back around the masked man is already occupied with another one of Hood's men, only this time he has drawn a sword of his own. He twirls and parries with an elegance Arthur has not seen before in combat; his movements fluid, dance-like. But his strength proves to be weak. His arms waver as the two blades press against one another. Arthur runs to his aid, but the outlaw releases their swords without warning, causing the masked man to stumble. He receives an elbow in the back and nearly loses his footing, but runs straight into Arthur instead.

Catching him against his chest, Arthur does not feel the strength of his muscles but the fullness of his bust. This is no masked man. This is a _woman_. He grabs onto her shoulders and pulls back just enough to look into her eyes. The lack of light does not allow him to make out details, but he doesn't need visual proof to support his suspicions. The scent of lavender and pine that fills the air is enough to confirm her identity.

She pushes his hands off of her and turns to face the outlaw, ducking his swing as she cartwheels out of the way, pulling up her sword to clash against his. She spins, using her free arm to elbow the man in the face, flipping over him, and grappling an arm tightly around his throat until he gives way to unconsciousness, letting him fall into the mud with a dull thud – an audible punctuation to their battle with Hood's men. Only the steady rush of wind and rain can be heard now.

Gwaine stands with them, though Arthur can't be sure how long he's been there, his face twisting in disbelief, "Who the bloody hell is this?" Not far off, another horse whinnies and the clattering of hooves draw near. Gwaine's shoulders deflate, "This night just doesn't end, does it?"

"Come on," Arthur pulls his attention away from the treeline back to Gwaine and the mysterious woman, "We should-" he stops, looking around only to find the two of them are alone once more. He furrows his brow, turning in a circle, but she is nowhere in sight.

"Well how about that," Gwaine mutters. "Takes the glory and leaves us behind."

Arthur continues to look around them, but starts walking. It is clear she can fend for herself if need be. "If we stay on top of the ridge, we should be able to miss any men that might be riding the road below." Gwaine nods and the two escalate into a run, weaving in and out of trees as they head in the direction of Nottingham. They hug the edge of the steep bank, keeping an eye out for signs of Hood's men, but it is difficult to see anything clearly beneath the gloom of the night's showers. They can only hope the veil of water that conceals their hunters will also conceal them.

Gwaine stops suddenly, and Arthur skids to a stop, nearly losing his footing, "What is it?"

"I think I see someone," he says, resting a hand on the trunk of a thin tree leaning out over the hillside. "Wait...is that-" Gwaine leans over farther, as if the extra few inches will help him to make out the distant figure. The loose soil beneath his feet shifts before giving way.

"Gwaine!" Arthur tries to grab him, but the knight is already set in motion, bringing his king down with him. They tumble down the ridge, sliding through mud and toppling over brush, branches whacking their faces, bristles tugging on their clothes, until they land in a heap where the ground evens out. Arthur doesn't move for a moment, letting his body register how much damage has been done, but when he feels nothing aside from general aches and bruises, he rolls over onto his stomach.

"Gwaine? Are you wounded?"

Beside him, he hears a groan, "No, but my pride might need some nursing."

A horse snorts in front of them, and they scramble to their feet with a pulse of adrenaline to find a lone rider standing in front of them. Not stout and strong, but lanky and familiar.

"Merlin!" Arthur says, a bright smile spreading across his face.

Hopping down from his saddle, Merlin looks over the two men, "Why is it whenever I think I've seen the worst of your filth, you have to go and prove me wrong?"

"Someone has to keep you on your toes" Arthur pats Merlin's cheek with a muddy palm. He looks at his friend a long moment, the fear that bound his chest unraveling, "It's good to see you."

"You too, sire." Arthur ruffles Merlin's hair and shoves him into Gwaine who entraps him in a strong embrace, taking special care to get him as dirty as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Deep within his cave, the bear lies dormant with slumber. His breaths are deep and even, laced with a gurgle that offers only a taste of the vehement growl and sharp fangs that lie within. Merlin takes caution in inching closer to the beast, his blankets cast aside presumably from the heat found even after nightfall. The glow from the single taper held in Merlin's hand falls across the bed, illuminating the king face down, and mouth slack, the bruises along his back and face appearing only as faint shadows against his pale skin.

"Sire," Merlin whispers in a feeble attempt to wake him. He searches the room for a better means, but without curtains to throw open, he cannot rely on the sun to do the job for him. "Arthur, it's time to wake." His voice is still a whisper and he clears his throat, hoping to rid himself of the nerves this hibernating blonde bear can provoke in the early hours of morning. He's not afraid of him, no, there is no need, not entirely, but it is upon first waking that the king habitually allows his disagreeable side to come to the surface.

Merlin decides to look for other solutions. A pitcher of water sits at Arthur's bedside, and while the idea of throwing water on him brings an undeniable smile to Merlin's face, he knew it would only cause more work for himself in the long run – after all, it was working the mud from their clothes that kept him from an early bedtime last night, he has no desire to spend his morning drying bed linens.

Poking him seems the next logical answer. Merlin readies his stance, so that he can dodge out of Arthur's inevitably sour reach as soon as he delivers his wake up prod, but just as he is gathering his gumption, his sight comes to rest on the flame of his candle, and an idea dawns on him. It's bright like the sun. Well, almost. And has heat like the sun. That's enough for Merlin to give it a try. Stooping down beside Arthur, Merlin slowly slides the candle closer to Arthur's face, watching intently to see if his eyelids flutter against its light. Nothing. Merlin's shoulders sag. But then a bright blue eye suddenly snaps open and the two find themselves eye to eye in unusually close proximity.

"What are you doing?" Arthur mumbles sleepily.

"Successfully waking _you_ up," Merlin says, still hovering close with a triumphant smile. "That's what." His voice must hold too much cheer for the king's liking.

"Get back before I hang you from the rafters..."

"Right," Merlin walks across the room to the wardrobe where they hung the clothes salvaged from the fire. What little Arthur had brought with him was dwindled down to two tunics and an extra pair of pants. "You might want to think about going shopping, sire."

"What time is it?" Arthur asks. He has yet to move.

"The time you always get up," says Merlin. "I know it's difficult to tell. Shall I light extra candles? Brighten the place up a bit? Why anyone would want a room with no windows is beyond me...it's so gloomy. Then again I suppose if you are assaulted by flaming arrows every night, this would be a preferable alternative."

Arthur snuggles back into bed, allowing his eyes to fall shut. His voice is muffled as he talks into the padding of his down pillow, "Did it ever occur to you that I might be deserving of a few more minutes of sleep today?"

"Why would that occur to me?" Merlin sets out a red tunic and begins walking the room, lighting any wicks that do not already hold a flame. "I didn't get a few more minutes today."

"You have no need of it," Arthur begins as he rolls over onto his back, "but I just spent four days riding in the sweltering heat to get here from Camelot-"

"So did I."

"-and when I finally arrived, I was made a fool in front of most of Nottingham."

"So was I," Merlin says again, lifting his free hand up to caress his neck where he remembers Robin Hood's blade pressing into his flesh.

"And I have had to shine up to one of the most dreadfully unpleasant men I have ever met."

"I suffer that on a daily basis," Merlin says beneath his breath, though loud enough for Arthur to hear. He ducks when one of Arthur's pillows comes flying at him, shielding the flame of the candle he's holding with his hand. "Careful! Do you want to start another fire?"

Arthur points at him as he springs into a sitting position, "_And_ I almost died in a fire."

"I was there too!" offense drips from the ends of Merlin's words. He scans the room for any forgotten lights. "Got it worse than you, I might add..."

"Then I couldn't even enjoy a drink at the tavern, no, I had to fight off a dozen of Hood's men, unarmed, most of the time, and in the middle of a torrential downpour," Arthur rubs his face to rid himself of both the lingering want to sleep and the memories of last night.

"Who do you think had to _launder_ your clothes afterward?" Merlin asks with a pointed look. "Hmm? Tell me that. I've seen swamp rats less soiled."

Arthur furrows his brow, "Merlin..." he holds out his hands to mimic the two plates of a scale, "Be slaughtered by a dozen men...or scrub a pair of boots? Don't be so dramatic. I think it's pretty clear who here is the one truly in need of some extra sleep."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose you're right," Merlin rests the taper back at Arthur's bedside. He leans in to peer at Arthur's face, "You are looking a little haggard, sire...pasty, worn...and those bruises aren't helping you any, are they?"

Arthur lunges at him, but Merlin scurries from the bedside, causing Arthur to catch his ankle in the blankets and topple over the edge of the bed, hitting the floor with a resounding thud. "_Merlin_!"

Merlin runs for the door, "No morning is complete without breakfast! I'll go fetch you some, sire!" He slips out the door, eager to leave before Arthur has the chance to get his hands on anything that could turn into a deadly projectile.

* * *

A decent meal is just the ticket to pacifying Arthur's morning grumps, though he remains thoughtful as he sits at the head of the table in his chambers cluttered with the aftermath of breakfast. Merlin glances at him every so often while he begins collecting the dirty dishes, placing one on top of the other quietly as to not disturb Arthur's thoughts, but his mouth betrays his intentions.

"Is everything alright, Arthur?"

"Just sorting through the day ahead of us," he says, looking into his goblet absently. He lets out a hefty breath and sets it down. "Those funny feelings you sometimes get, Merlin..."

"The ones you always scoff at but then end up regretting you ignored?"

Arthur stares at him for a disapproving moment, finally, "More or less, those are the ones. How are they doing now?"

"You...want to know how my feelings are feeling?"

"I genuinely don't know why I try talking to you sometimes," Arthur says, dropping his hand from where it was momentarily pinching the bridge of his nose. He waves his hand at the table, "Just clear this off and be on your way then."

"No, I want to help, I do, it's just..." Merlin trails off. He has had all sorts of feelings since the instant they arrived and none of them have been especially pleasing. Not about the sinister way Sir Guy keeps an eye on Arthur, or the script that Lord Vaisey seems to read off when he's talking to or about him. Not about the abjection plaguing the people and the stagnation of the kingdom's economy. And certainly not about the pulsing force radiating out from a source of magic within the castle that Merlin has yet to identify for certain.

"Just what?"

The sight of Morgana still swims in Merlin's memory. She did not act like an intruder, unfamiliar with the goings on around her and paranoid about who might be over her shoulder watching her, no, she held herself tall, watching things unfold around her with such hunger it's as though she had been...waiting – a prospect that digs at Merlin's stomach. Arthur leans forward in his chair to give Merlin his full attention, but when Merlin looks into his eyes, he not only sees Arthur's worry for him, but all of the other burdens he must carry...as king, as a young man fighting to fulfill a destiny he does not even know he has, and all amidst the turmoils of loss and a broken heart.

"Just...that..." and suddenly Merlin cannot find it in him to share his doubts with Arthur. "Red is a horrible color on you. I should have gotten out the grey." He busies himself by lifting the pile of dishes he had accumulated into his arms, grabbing Arthur's goblet and placing it on top.

Arthur looks down at his tunic, his face scrunching in what Merlin can only assume is utter bewilderment, "It is the _core_ color of Camelot."

Merlin nods sympathetically, shifting his weight under the suspicion-filled stare of his king, "It is unfortunate, isn't it?"

"Merlin," Arthur says sternly to get his attention. He points to the dishes in Merlin's hands then presses his fingertip onto the tabletop. Merlin obediently sets them down. "Whenever you're flustered you resort to insulting me."

"Maybe you just deserve it."

"_Maybe_ you should sit down and tell me what this is really about," Arthur says as he kicks out the chair positioned to his right, motioning to it. Merlin glances between the chair and Arthur, unsure if he wants to put himself in the position of having to confess. But every now and then, when he sees Arthur sitting at a table surrounded by empty chairs, he realizes that perhaps, just maybe, he is all that Arthur has. And if he does not tell him the truth, then who will? He takes his place beside Arthur and lets out a breath, unsure of where to start.

"There we are," says Arthur, clearly pleased with Merlin's cooperation. He leans back in his seat. "Now. Out with it. What has you bothered?"

"I didn't want to burden you more than you already are, Arthur."

"I appreciate your consideration, but," Arthur shakes his head, "it is my duty to alleviate the worries of my people, including you, and sometimes that means taking them upon myself. You don't need to protect me."

Merlin smiles faintly at the irony of those words, but it soon passes as he takes a special interest in the wood grain of the table, "I thought...when you were fighting Robin Hood and his men...I thought I saw," he swallows to clear his throat, which suddenly feels constricted, "Morgana." He lifts his eyes to catch the king's reaction. Arthur's brow is furrowed, and though his intent gaze is fixed on Merlin, Merlin can tell there is more going on behind his eyes, the idea is being turned over again and again.

"Morgana," Arthur finally repeats. "You're sure?"

"I-" Merlin stops. He has not seen her since that night, only felt her, but that is not exactly something he can say, and though he thought he caught a glimpse of her face, he was never able to see her more clearly thanks to Robin Hood's intervention. "Well..."

Arthur studies him another moment, "Lord Vaisey's speech that day. It scared you, didn't it?"

Merlin opens his mouth to offer a sharp retort, but thinks again when he sees that Arthur is not mocking him. Not in the least. He is asking a valid question, and possibly, looking for affirmation that concern over the steward's words is a worthy reaction. His silence is taken as his answer.

"Morgana has no limitations when it comes to achieving her ends," says Arthur. "I put nothing past her, but we can't let her get into our minds. We need to turn our paranoia into vigilance, so that it becomes a help not a hindrance. Tell the others of your suspicions; six pairs of eyes on the lookout will lessen our load."

There are times, albeit fleeting, when it seems as though Arthur is nothing short of marvelous. Unerring. His stride does not weaken with news of his greatest enemy potentially nearby, and he is able to press beyond himself, and whatever he feels inside, to comfort those around him. But Merlin can't help but feel that during certain circumstances, perhaps the king should be more apprehensive.

"And what about Lord Vaisey?"

"What about him?" Arthur asks.

"You said yourself, he's unpleasant."

Arthur laughs, "Merlin, being unpleasant doesn't make someone evil. My father was unpleasant, even I can admit to that, but he was a good man."

That is debatable, but Merlin holds his tongue on the matter, instead saying, "Lady Marian doesn't seem overly fond of him either."

"Is that supposed to sway my opinion?"

"Does it?"

"No," says Arthur, standing from his seat. "Look, you both have ill feelings toward him. I understand that, but he has done nothing – apart from maybe being a bit crass upon our first meeting, which I didn't particularly appreciate now that it comes to it – but he has done nothing to earn skepticism from us."

"He almost killed a man for feeding his starving family," Merlin offers.

"There is more to it than that," Arthur paces away from the table. "He was emotionally compromised by the involvement of Hood."

"And you don't think it's a bit pretentious for him to just sit on his throne and watch while you strive for his approval?"

"You make me sound like a dog eager to please his master."

"Maybe that's what he's hoping you are," says Merlin as he finally gets up from his seat. He rather likes being able to sit at Arthur's table with him, but he knows it will not be a regularly occurring privilege, so he takes his time in vacating.

"Well I'm not," Arthur says firmly. "I do things for us and the good of Camelot, and that's it. If he is not pleased with my actions then he can very well just..."

Merlin raises his eyebrows, eager to hear the end of this sentence, but his mirth must have shown through with too much enthusiasm because Arthur's brow knits together when he looks at Merlin and he waves a hand toward the door, "Just...go."

Merlin deflates with disappointment.

"Take these dishes back to the kitchen, tell the others about Morgana, and ready my armor for later. I will need you back here just after high noon to help me put it on. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sire," Merlin manages to gather everything into one arm load, though it teeters precariously. He steadies it with his chin.

"And Merlin..." Arthur calls after him just as he manages to open the chamber doors with hardly a hand to spare. Merlin carefully turns back around to face him, not wanting to jostle anything out of place. "You're fine, aren't you?"

It takes Merlin a moment to realize that Arthur is referring to his health. "Oh," he nods what little he can without taking his chin off the tower of dishes, "Right as rain, sire."

The faintest smile pokes through the side of Arthur's mouth, and he nods, making his way across the room to where a large oak desk sits with a few papers scattered on top. Merlin readies himself for a walk through the castle, hopefully without breaking anything, and slips out the door.

* * *

The chores assigned to Merlin do not take as long as expected, maybe because he found all of the knights in one place, or because he scrimped on polishing Arthur's armor. It hasn't been worn since they got to Nottingham, so he sees no need in giving it another go. A bit of spit and a brief buffing should be enough to appease Arthur's uneducated eye when it comes to polish. As long as it shines, he'll think Merlin spent hours on it.

"I do not think it would be wise to make any promises."

Merlin skids to the stop in the middle of the hallway, a pair of footsteps drawing closer. Sir Guy. Not again. He whips his head around to see if anyone else is in sight, when no one is, he ducks into an alcove housing a grand stone statue and unties the decorative curtain being swept to the side to allow it to fall in front of the opening and conceal him from sight.

"She's growing impatient," Lord Vaisey whispers harshly. _Speak of the __unpleasant __devil_, Merlin thinks. "We have to do something," he continues. "Do you want to see what she will do when she decides she's done waiting? I don't. We need to uphold our end."

She? Merlin cannot be certain who it is they speak of, but the cryptic nature of the conversation is enough to warrant concern. He listens in closely.

"It is a sensitive matter, my lord," says Guy, though his voice is as placative as if they were discussing this week's meal plan. "If we do not proceed with caution, we will have a war against Camelot on our hands. I do not think either of us want that."

"And if we do not proceed _quickly_, we will be at war with someone far worse. Tell me, who do you think you will have better odds against?" the steward asks. "A clue: neither. You'd be dead either way, so I suggest you get a grip on your men and take him down quickly and quietly."

A rock forms in Merlin's throat, dropping to the pit of his stomach, but rather than cause distress, it only pushes him to know more. Sir Guy stops not far from the alcove, his tall silhouette casting a shadow against the curtain, and Merlin shrinks back against the wall, careful not to make a sound. "And what would you have me tell her? She expects word on our progress."

"La-dee-da-dee-da...always worried about pleasing people, Gisbourne. Grow a spine. Tell her whatever she wants to know. It isn't that difficult. You over complicate things." His short and stout shadow leaves Gisbourne alone to stand in his wake. Merlin tries not to let the swell of growing anxiety be heard in his heavy breathing, so he holds his breath until Gisbourne turns on his heels and struts in the opposite direction. As soon as the coast is clear, Merlin doesn't take a second to hesitate before he follows after him. If he wasn't sure what was going on and who was behind it before, he will be soon.

* * *

Three simple tasks. That is all he asked of Merlin. Three simple tasks. Yet it is well past the deadline Arthur gave him, and after many failed attempts at latching his own armor, he decided it was time to go on a hunt. The hallways are buzzing with people on various forms of business, but to Arthur's dismay none of them wear a distinctive red scarf and dumb look to match. He hopes for Merlin's sake that he has a good explanation; got locked in a broom cupboard, lost his way in the cellars, or impaled himself on his own stupidity.

A Nottingham guard knocks into Arthur's shoulder as he passes going the opposite direction, immediately giving him his space when he realizes who he has run into, "Forgive me, your majesty."

"No, it's quite all...right..." Arthur's voice trails off when he becomes distracted by a wound that mars the left side of the soldier's face. He keeps walking, but Arthur stands frozen to the floor, people continuing to pass him by on either side. He can see the guard is bandaged around an entire side of his head, a crimson stain shows through the white dressing, beginning at the hallow of his cheek and ending just beyond the tip of his ear. Before he can fully process the implications, a hand he knows all too well lands on his shoulder.

"I think you might be missing something there."

Arthur turns to find Gwaine dressed in his full armor, complete with red cape and a grin. He nods, looking down at himself, not even remotely ready for today's task. "I'm working on it. Have you seen Merlin?"

"Avoiding you, is he?"

"For the benefit of his health, I hope not," says Arthur. Over Gwaine's shoulder, he spots Marian rounding the corner towards them, but when she meets his eyes, she turns about-face and disappears back down the hall she came from. Arthur furrows his brow, "If you see him, tell him to practice his grovelling. He'll be lucky to still have a head on his shoulders once I'm through with him." With that, Arthur hurries after Marian, though he still manages to hear Gwaine laughing behind him. "Marian!" She is already halfway down the next hall and does not look like she intends to slow her pace anytime soon. He scoots after her, the perks of kingship coming in handy as others part out of his way, and he finally manages to fall into stride beside her. "My lady...running away? That's not like you."

She smiles, "With all due respect, your majesty, it's been years. How can you actually know what is 'like me?'"

"It's more of an assumption, really," says Arthur. "You were quite bold last night."

Marian comes to a halt and Arthur turns to face her. She avoids his gaze, turning her attention to the people around them, "I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to. I was in Knighton last night. I was at home."

"I'm sure you were," it is Arthur's turn to smile as he rather enjoys watching some people scramble to keep their feathers unruffled, "And I'm sure you can recount your evening with enthralling details, can't you?"

She peers up at him a moment, "Are you laughing at me?"

"Yes, because as convincing as you might try to be, it doesn't change that I know the truth."

Letting out a breath, she scans the hallway once more, undoubtedly debating as to what to do now. She finally takes his arm and pulls him to the side of the corridor where they will be out of traffic's way and able to enjoy the sunlight streaming in through the gallery windows. "How can you be so confident in yourself?"

Rather than admit he had remembered the smell of lavender and pine that often wafts through the air when she's around, he goes for something a bit more ambiguous, "Keen instincts."

"Well..." Marian steps in closer, a smug smile playing on her lips and her voice lowering, "It seems we have that in common. Otherwise I might not have strayed from my usual route, and you would have found yourself on that forest floor, flat on your back, with no one to save you."

"I don't know that I actually needed _saving_," says Arthur as he folds his arms across his chest, "but I accept the kind gesture nonetheless."

Marian shakes her head, "There's that pride again. How do you manage to stand tall beneath its weight day after day?"

"You get used to it," he says. "That and you humble yourself from time to time." She says nothing, but clasps her hands behind her back, waiting patiently for him to begin showing an example of just that. The expectation on her face makes him let out a little chuckle, and he lowers his gaze a moment to collect his thoughts, eventually bringing it back up to meet hers. He keeps his voice soft to avoid being overheard. "I owe you a great debt, Marian. What you did...risking your life for mine, demonstrating your noble character, and holding your own in combat...it would all be enough to earn you a knighthood in Camelot."

"It's unfortunate that I live here then, isn't it?" She says, excitement over the prospect gleaming in her eyes, "Me, a knight? I could imagine nothing more thrilling."

"After all that was said between us yesterday, I thought you deserved to know how highly I think of you. And I would entrust you with my life." He quickly adds, "If the need should ever arise, I am generally quite capable of taking care of myself."

"Oh yes, generally, I'm sure you are."

"And I also owe you for keeping your word," says Arthur. "Merlin has come round and is back to being his old..._evasive-little-rat_ self." He checks up and down the hallway, making sure Merlin doesn't try to scurry past him while he's occupied.

"After all my hard work, you go and lose him?"

"He's shiftier than you might think," he insists, giving her his focus once more, and waiting for her gentle laughter to subside before he speaks again. "I have questions, Marian, and I know you might not be able to answer them here, but-"

"No, I can't," she pauses to think. "But tonight. Come to my room here in the castle. You were once the holder of all my secrets. I think it's about time I filled you in on a few more."

Arthur raises his eyebrows, "You want me to come to...your room? After dark?"

She rolls her eyes, "I'm not out to steal your _virtue_, Arthur. We must wait until the cover of night, when less people are walking the halls. Only then will you avoid being seen – oh!" She quickly ducks behind Arthur, grabbing the front of his tunic and guiding him to shield her from sight. At first he thinks she is demonstrating stealth, given their present conversation, but it soon becomes clear that she's hiding from someone who is unknown to, but apparently behind, Arthur.

Two tiny hands find their way to Arthur's legs, spreading his knees open as a brunette mass of curls pokes between them with great jubilation.

"Found you!" Leofrick shouts, pointing up at Marian.

"You did! You win _again_," she says, pretending to be upset about her loss, and reaches down to scoop him into her arms. "But look who I found." She nods to direct Leofrick's attention at Arthur, who smiles in greeting.

"Arter!" Leofrick exclaims, his pronunciation lacking the finesse of an older child, but his excitement is unwavering. He soon frowns, however, when he looks Arthur over. "Are you not going?"

"Not going?" Arthur looks down at himself to see what it is Leofrick is looking at, then at the boy again. "Am I not going where?"

"With the others..." he says, playing shyly with the beads on Marian's sleeve. "They have all their stuff on. I seen them."

"Oh, the knights, yes," Arthur says as he struggles to learn how to interpret and speak the language of a child. He rests a hand on his chest where his chainmail should be. "I'll be going with them, but my manservant seems to have gone missing. He's the one who helps me into my armor."

Leofrick looks at him, his forehead creased with worry, then up at Marian, "He can't dress himself?"

Marian resists the urge to laugh, settling for a pleasant smile, "Armor is a bit different, Leo, but..." she throws a quick glance at Arthur, then whispers something in Leofrick's ear, who gasps and whips his head around to look at Arthur, his eyes wide.

Arthur can't be sure what Marian said, but he raises a hand to defend his honor, "I know how to dress myself."

"_We_ help you," Leofrick suggests then bites down on his lower lip, swinging his legs in the air with nervous energy.

"You...oh, no, you don't have to-"

"He would like that," Marian says before he has a chance to turn them down. "If you'd be willing to let us." Arthur glances between them, hardly able to believe something would mean so much to someone, but he finds himself nodding in agreement anyway.

* * *

With his chainmail on, Arthur sits on a stool in his chambers. The heat intensifies with his added layers, but it is only a matter of time before he is out in the open air, where he hopes a cool breeze waits for him. Behind him, Marian works nimbly, several components already attached, and fastening his gardbrace into place, while Leofrick sits at his feet, playing with Arthur's gloves.

"Is this what it's like?" Leofrick asks so quietly, Arthur and Marian have to lean in a little to catch what he is saying. He keeps his head bowed over the gloves that are ten times too large for his own hands, his cheeks puffing in a thoughtful pout.

"Is this what what's like, darling?" Marian asks as she comes to kneel at Arthur's side. She guides his arm, turning it over, and picks up the lower cannon of his vambrace, starting to secure it into place to protect his forearm.

"Us. Is this what it's like," he looks up at the two of them, "to have a mama and a papa?" Marian's fingers come to a pause, though they remain poised on the leather buckle. All Arthur can do at first is stare down at this boy; this little boy who is being brought up to rule a kingdom, and all he wants is to have a family. Or to even know what it's like to have one. The notion is not all together unfamiliar, but at least Arthur had been given a father up until recently.

He glances at Marian, who holds his gaze briefly before casting her eyes down, and busying herself with his armor once more. "You know, I wouldn't know," says Arthur, gaining Leofrick's full attention, "I never knew my mother."

"Like me..."

"And I lost my father not too long ago," he feels a gentle squeeze on his arm, and he knows it is Marian's silent condolences.

"That's like me too," Leofrick says sadly, bowing his head again.

"But you know what else?" says Arthur with a little more cheer, and Leofrick tilts his head to the side, not wanting to come out of his pout quite yet, but intrigued as to what Arthur has to say. "If you allow yourself to be open to it, you will find family in other places. Other people. Knights, advisers, friends...even servants."

"Is that allowed?"

"That's the beauty of it. You're the king, aren't you? You make the rules."

"Yeah!" Leofrick pumps a tiny fist into the air, a smile spreading across his face.

Arthur brings his free hand over to rest it on top of Marian's, "And you're lucky. Marian is already a part of your family." He looks at her, but continues talking to Leofrick, "Don't you ever take her for granted, alright?"

"Never!" The little king climbs to his feet and comes to lean on Arthur's knee, the gloves still clutched in his hands. He bounces on his toes, the light in his eyes bright as ever, "I bet this _is_ what it's like." Marian leans down to give his dimpled cheek a kiss, while Arthur ruffles his hair.

* * *

Judging by the position of the sun, Merlin knows Arthur will be looking for him. He can almost see the agitation rippling in his jaw now and hear the harried tone in his voice as he calls out for him, only to discover he is on his own. Then again, he's not on his own. Not entirely. The knights are there. But a small part of Merlin hopes that Arthur finds something lacking in his absence, that he might see just how much he does for him. He also, and perhaps more so, hopes that Arthur _doesn't_ notice the lack of sheen on his armor.

Merlin suddenly flattens to the ground, hiding behind a clump of bushes, when Sir Guy glances over his shoulder from atop his steed. The forest is alive with activity, no doubt the animals are eager to enjoy the sun after yesterday's gloom, and it becomes the perfect cover for any twigs Merlin might snap or leaves he might crunch while trailing the man in black.

Fortunately, Sir Guy has kept his pace slow, making Merlin's pursuit on foot far easier, but it makes Merlin wonder just what his plans are. He can only assume that blazing through the forest would draw more attention to the rider than he prefers to have while tending to discrete matters of business, and as Merlin learned hunting with Arthur, a slower pace means a keener ear.

Sir Guy swings his leg over the horse to dismount, creating just enough rustle for Merlin to get to his feet and duck behind a large tree unnoticed. The bark is rough beneath his palms as he leans into them to catch his breath. He edges around the trunk, peering out at Guy, whose back is to him as he leads his horse into a thicker patch of woods. This is it. Merlin can feel the strength of her presence.

He rests his forehead against the tree, calming his mind, and focusing his strength should he end up needing to use his own powers. When enough time has past to ensure distance between them, Merlin leaves his hiding spot to follow in Gisbourne's footsteps.

This patch of wood is dense and unforgiving, thorns snagging on each article of clothing Merlin wears. _It suits her_, he thinks, and he wonders how Guy managed to make it through with his broader girth, let alone with a horse in tow. Just beyond the thicket, the shrubs and trees give way to a clearing where there sits a tiny hovel, less covert than her home in Camelot, and seemingly less luxurious too. The entire structure is sunken beneath ground level, a small dirt ramp carving a way down to the front door, which is made up of little more than a few slats of wood. On top, a thatched a-frame offers shelter from the sun, but Merlin doubts it did her very much good during yesterday's storms.

Sir Guy must already be inside. His lone horse is tied to a post stuck near the outdoor fire pit, and there is no sign of him anywhere. Merlin skirts the outside of the clearing, careful not to startle the large animal, and double-checking his surroundings for Guy, but when he sees nothing, he stoops down to peer though a thin patch of straw where the roof line meets the muddied ground.

Inside, Sir Guy must hunch in order to accommodate his height, but before Merlin is even able to catch sight of who he stands before, he knows his instincts have not lead him astray.

"His is one boy," her voice is smooth, controlled, though Merlin knows it is taking some effort on her part to keep it that way. "Though let's face it, you and your men have a legacy of being tripped up by a single man." She sashays into view, and Merlin must bite his lip to keep from reacting. He knew it was her. All along. But now that he sees her clearly, in the flesh, and undisguised, there is no more room to doubt. He cannot pass it off as paranoia, dismiss it as a trick of the eye, no, she is here most certainly. Dressed head to toe in black, her hair gnarled, and her green eyes hungry. Morgana.

"In order to achieve the greatest benefit," says Guy, "I urge you to be patient, my lady."

"The only benefit I desire is to see my dear brother's lifeless body be drained of its last drop of blood," she seethes through her teeth, her face inches from his, "And I don't need your incompetence to achieve that."

"You put on a strong act, but you forget two things," he says, his face drifting closer to hers. "The first being that we have only been set after him for two days. Resulting in two failures, one of which even had your aid. How long have you striven to end him? How many times have you failed?"

Morgana does not back down, snatching the open flap of his coat, and making their noses bump against one another, "It is Emrys who thwarts me! Not Arthur."

Gisbourne raises an eyebrow, "And you think he has stayed at home this time? Who else could have broken the seal you put on the king's door the night of the fire?"

"No..." she breathes. Even from this distance, Merlin can see the resolve in her eyes waning, but she musters it together and releases him roughly. "_No_, he is not here."

Sir Guy turns his head away from her and toward Merlin, who ducks out of precaution, "Your desperation is clouding your senses, my lady. That is why you cannot feel Emrys."

Merlin returns to the hole in the thatch, watching as Morgana trembles with what he hopes to be fear. "And the second?" She asks in a whisper.

"What?" Sir Guy asks, bringing his eyes back to her.

"Two things!" She snaps, the topic of Emrys clearly driving her mad. She shoves him roughly as if that will help his recall, but his staunch form barely sways, "You said I am forgetting _two_ things! What is the second!?"

"Ah yes," he says, his tone as apathetic to her words as his build is to her assaults, "Before you dismiss my men and I, you may want to consider the fact that the death of the king will not result in your immediate accession to the throne of Camelot. Is that not what you ultimately want? To take up your rightful place?"

"It is."

"Then you will need an army to do it," he nods in the general direction of Nottingham. "For whatever reason, these knights have bound themselves to Arthur, and I do not think his death will free up their loyalties."

She draws close to him again, a sardonic smile appearing on her lips, "And you think you and your regime of misfits will prove to be formidable opponents against the Camelot knights?"

"They would stand a better chance against them than you would on your own."

"Worried about me?" She coos, tracing a fingertip along his stubbled jaw.

He ignores her and continues on with his own thought, "Unless, of course, you happen to have armies lining up to serve you on a whim, then by all means, chose one more to your liking."

She grabs his face with a sneer, "Do not mock me." They stare at one another in a moment of tension before Morgana releases him and paces away, "What's next?"

Sir Guy rubs his face where her nails had begun to dig into his skin, "The king and his knights are escorting a caravan of recently collected taxes to the edge of Sherwood Forest today. We know exactly where they'll be and when."

"Your soldiers will go out to join them under the guise of hooded men, I presume?"

"Of course."

"I must admit," says Morgana, "It is quite a masterful plan. Giving you the opportunity to strike without compromising Arthur's trust in you or the steward." She takes a few steps back toward him, "Tell me, was it your idea or Lord Vaisey's?"

Sir Guy scoffs, shaking his head, "You give the steward too much credit for even _thinking_ he is capable of devising such a scheme."

"Well then..." she says, the drawl in her voice indicating that she has pushed fury and indignation to the back, and allowed allure to take the forefront of her demeanor again, "I guess I know who to keep by my side when I reclaim the throne."

Even the stoic Gisbourne cannot hide his surprise, his eyebrows arcing toward his hairline, "My lady?"

"Go now," says Morgana. "And let's hope you end this day with the shedding of royal blood."

Sir Guy gives a bow, and it isn't until Merlin hears the creak of the door that he suddenly realizes he has allowed himself to get caught up in the conversation unfolding before him, and neglected to get away before Sir Guy reemerged.

Merlin gets to his feet, whispering, "_Sc__á__oil an r__é__in_!" The horse's tether gently slips from the post and before an unsuspecting Gisbourne can reach his steed, Merlin adds, "_D__ü__l capall_!" which sends him galloping off into the woods.

"Hey!" shouts Sir Guy as he runs after his horse, giving Merlin the chance to run the opposite direction and take cover in the woods, but even once he is safely out of sight, he does not stop. He keeps running. There was always the feeling that Arthur was in danger, but now it has become a certainty. Without Merlin there at his side, Arthur and the knights could be walking into an ambush at this very moment, one they might not be able to get out of alive.

He darts around trees, jumps over brush and logs, scrambling up hillsides in the direction of Nottingham as fast as his feet will carry him. Beads of sweat burst from his brow as the sun beats down so fervently, even the canopy of leaves overhead offers little relief. His foot catches on an exposed root, pulling his feet out from under him, and sending him sprawling across the forest floor. He groans, bringing a hand up to touch his chin, which had split open upon impact with the broken limb lying in front of him. When he pulls his hand away, traces of red coat the tips of his fingers.

"Oi!" calls a voice from the top of a nearby hillside. Merlin can hear light footsteps approaching from somewhere behind him. "What's Wart's puppy doing all the way out here?"

There is only one person who calls Arthur by that name. Merlin quickly flips onto his back and freezes, finding himself face to face with Robin Hood, a smirk on his face and a bow readied in his hands with an arrow pointing only several inches from Merlin's nose. "Hello again."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"We have a guest!" Robin shouts. His enthusiasm is akin to that of a child with a secret they so desperately wish to share, but for Merlin, he finds his captor lacks the endearing innocence that often accompanies such charm. Leaves crunch beneath the soles of several pairs of boots as they approach, some hastier while others scuffle along more slowly, but Merlin cannot see through his scarf, which Robin has repurposed as a blindfold. His chin still aches from where he split it on the root, but now he has added several more bumps and bruises from traversing the expanse of the forest blindly with a less than cautious guide.

Without the freedom to use his hands, which are bound tightly behind his back, Merlin tries his best to steady himself as he is shoved to his knees, not wanting to end up face first in the dirt.

"Looks more like a captive to me," says a male voice, stopping just to the left of Merlin.

"Which makes it all the better when you see who it is."

"Oh...not again," another man says, his voice growing louder as he comes to join the group that has gathered. His steps are sloppy, slapping against the ground in a pout. "Master, I thought we agreed to keep outsiders _out_. For our safety and the safety of the camp's location. I really don't feel like moving again."

"Much, do you see what's on his face?" Robin asks. Despite being unable to see anything apart from vague shadows, Merlin finds himself trying to look at whoever is speaking regardless. It somehow makes him feel apart of things rather than an object at their disposal. There is a long pause before an answer is given.

"A blindfold."

"Then our safety measures are still intact, aren't they?"

"Well, yes, for now, but we said-"

"How long are you going to make us wait?" It's a woman's voice this time. The thick accent coating her words is not one that Merlin recognizes, and he can only begin to guess where she might have come from. "Show us who he is!"

"Yes!" Her energy seems to spur Robin on, and his hands work quickly at the back of Merlin's head to untie the scarf, but he keeps it covering his face a moment longer, "Ladies and gentlemen...I give you-" and with a flourish, he whips the fabric from Merlin's face, the sudden light stinging at his eyes and making him grimace as he squints against the bright onslaught.

The intensity of the sun begins to diminish as Merlin's eyes adjust, and he can now see that they are not in an intricate lair, full of dozens of outlaws as he expected, but rather in a rustic campsite with three other men and a woman staring down at him. None of their faces seem overly ecstatic.

"I'm not being funny," says the man to his left, finally breaking the silence with a cock of his eyebrow, "but are we supposed to know who this bloke is?"

Robin takes a slight step back as if the man's words have slapped him. His voice raises in pitch, much like Arthur's does when he is riled up, "_Yes_, you're supposed to know! Where have you been?"

"Did you do that to him?" The woman interrupts, studying Merlin's chin from afar. All eyes turn to him, and the weight of their speculation begins to weaken Merlin until he bows his head in an attempt to escape it.

"No, he did that to himself." Robin is defensive. He shifts his stance, and Merlin can almost feel the agitation radiating off of him. "Do none of you honestly realize who he is?"

A taller, lanky fellow cranes his head forward to get a better look then shakes his head, "Sorry, he doesn't look familiar to me either."

Robin sighs and stoops down, grabbing Merlin's hair and forcing him to lift his face towards the others, "_This_...is none other than our dear friend, Merlin." The motion stretches the skin along Merlin's neck and face, causing the dried blood to crack and allowing fresh, warm blood to begin seeping out from his wound. "Merlin," Robin repeats more forcefully as if it will help jog their memories.

"Yeah, that still doesn't help me any," says the man to his left dryly.

The woman, whose eyes never left Merlin's injury, breaks formation, "I'm going to get something to clean him up." She heads beneath the makeshift roof of branches, leaves, and twine.

"No, Djaq!" Robin calls after her before groaning. Clearly his surprise was not having quite the effect he was hoping for.

"Merlin!" Much shouts, and Merlin instinctively turns toward him, wincing when it causes Robin's hold on his hair to tug against his scalp. The wide-eyed ginger is not calling for him, but rather finally _re_calling where he has heard the name before. His face is overcome with dread, and he smooths his bandana nervously, "Oh, no...nonononono...tell me this isn't who I think it is."

A smug smile returns to Robin's face, "He's exactly who you think he is."

"Would someone tell _me_ who he bloody well is?"

"Allan, this..." Much pauses, covering his mouth as if he might get sick, but then finds the composure to proceed, "This is King Arthur's manservant."

"That's it?" Allan says. "A bit disappointing, isn't it?"

"Disappointing!?" Robin exclaims in unison with Much, though their tones hold vastly different emotions; Robin's riddled with indignation, while Much's nears panic.

"Terrifying is more like it!" continues Much. "You saw how protective the king was of him when we were in the square. What if he comes looking for him? Not to mention this could put us at war with an entire kingdom. We can barely handle Nottingham as it is. Let him go! I say we just let him go, and then the knight's of Camelot can leave us in peace. And their king. He can leave us in peace too."

Allan scoffs at his distress, "The man breaks one of your ribs and now he has you petrified. Maybe he is a thing of legend." He chuckles, looking to the others to join him, but they don't.

"The fact that he is valuable is why it's a good thing we have him in our possession," offers the lanky man calmly. He glances from Merlin to Djaq as she returns with a few supplies, and stoops down next to Merlin. They make eye contact briefly before she turns her full attention to getting him some proper treatment.

"_Yes_," Robin throws a grateful hand out towards the man, "Thank you, Will. I knew you of all people would get it."

"Hey, I get it too," says Allan. "But it just seems like one of the actual knights might have been more lucrative if it's a ransom we're looking to get."

"Ah, but we're not. We're looking to get something much more valuable," Robins takes a knee next to Djaq, his full attention on Merlin now. "We're looking to get information."

Merlin glances between them, "I don't know how much help I'll be. I make his bed, bring him food, wash his clothes. Arthur tells me very little in the matter of business."

"I told you a knight'd be better."

"He's lying," says Robin without taking his eyes off Merlin. He leans onto the arm propped up on his knee, "You know how I know you're lying?"

"I'm not..."

"You are. Because it's not often a servant is on a first name basis with his king. That is a privilege left for trusted confidantes" the corner of Robin's smirk curves higher, his insistent gaze daring Merlin to contradict him. It's worth a try.

"No," Merlin says adamantly, hissing when his sudden movement scrapes his chin more roughly against Djaq's rag. "No, that's just how he is. Me, the knights, he prefers it if we all call him Arthur. I'm only obeying his wishes."

"What a good servant you are." Robin says as he stands, picking up a branch that would make a perfect walking stick. He leans on it. "You even credit him with more humility than he deserves."

Merlin tries harder to keep still, aided by Djaq's hand steadying his chin, but his eyes lift to bore into Robin's, "A king willing to get off his throne in order to achieve peace is deserving of more recognition for his modesty than I alone can give."

"Peace?" Djaq looks to Robin for his reaction, but he does not seem surprised.

"So that's why they're here," says Will. "To negotiate a treaty?"

Robin turns away from Merlin to address his crew, resting his stick back over his shoulder as a knight might rest a sword, "Yes, Wart is convinced that our capture will earn him the signature of our beloved Lord Vaisey. He has brought along four knights, confident that the five of them can accomplish in days what all of Mercia has failed to for the past several years." He glances over his shoulder at Merlin, "A humble king, indeed."

"Wait," Much's eyes grow into saucers, "they're here to hunt us? What are we going to do?"

"How do you know that's the plan?" asks Will.

Merlin recalls their ride through Sherwood Forest, and the man in the trees, "He heard us talking on our way into Nottingham." Robin raises his eyebrows at him, and Merlin is graced with a small sense gratification. He is sure it is not often that the notorious outlaw's stealth, or lack thereof, is called into question.

Allan unfolds his arms and takes a step closer to Robin, his brow stern, "If you knew, why were we never told about this before?"

"I was hoping to get a word in with..." Robin stops, obviously unwilling to disclose names in front of Merlin, "..._her_ before raising any alarm. Collect all relevant information first."

"Oh, yeah, well no rush," says Allan bitterly, "it's not like the rest of us were in any danger, walking about with Camelot's hunting dogs out after us."

"Look, you know now, alright?"

"Did you hear anything more?" Djaq asks as she replaces her medical supplies into her basket and stands, resting it on her hip.

"Nothing of importance," says Robin, giving the stick he found a few twirls before planting it into the ground and leaning on it once more. "A soliloquy about what it means to be king, and some tale about a heartbroken Wart over some girl named Gretel. But what we should be focusing on is..."

Merlin's face flushes with heat. He can no longer hear what Robin is saying, his voice drowned out by the pounding in his ears. No one minimizes Arthur's pain, and no one reduces Gwen to simply some girl. He barely parts his lips and whispers, "_Brise__á__dh __ì__ leath_." The stick supporting Robin's weight snaps in two and sends him hurtling to the ground as the others roar with laughter. Merlin lets a grin peek through.

"Need to cut back on Much's cooking, eh?" Allan jests.

"Yeah, you're looking a bit thick there, Robin," Will says, ducking with a smile as Robin throws a handful of dead leaves at him.

But Djaq stops the merriment before the others, turning her attention to the woods, "Shh! Quiet! Did you hear that?"

"What?" Much tries to follow her line of sight.

"I heard a branch snap."

Allan laughs, looking at Robin in the dirt with the two halves of his stick beside him, "I think we all heard that one."

"No, she's right," Robin gets to his feet, his smile gone. "Someone's coming." He keeps his eyes on the forest while he runs to fetch his bow, readying it with an arrow. The others arm themselves as well, naturally forming a circle to protect one another's backs. Merlin checks the surrounding area with eager anticipation, hoping that he will see a billowing red cape, or five, appear through the dense canvas of green foliage.

"I didn't hear the alarm go off," whispers Much. He barely gets the word out when the giant that nearly choked Arthur to death comes bounding over a hill crest. Merlin lets out a thwarted breath.

Robin immediately smiles, "Little John!" Merlin scrunches his face at that. _Little_ John?

"There's a tax convoy heading north on York Road," says Little John without a minute to waste. He comes to a stop, huffing, and Merlin is sure running takes a man of that size extensive effort. "Its escorts wear the Pendragon crest."

The smile on Robin's face broadens, "Lads, I think it's time we offered a proper introduction."

* * *

Along the wooded road, the buggy lumbers along at a pace that has bored the knights, who have taken to small talk to pass the time. It jostles to and fro with every bump, the clanking of coins against one another ringing every now and then, and though Arthur has urged the carriage drivers to pick up the momentum, they insist that the weight of the load will crack a wheel if they are not careful. He can hardly concentrate on the conversations at hand with the threat of robbery lingering in the forefront of his mind. There is no doubt the treaty will be forgotten if he loses the steward's fortune to anyone, Hood or other. His attention snaps back to the knights when he hears mention of the name.

"Robin Hood has his merry men," says Gwaine from the back of the cortege, swaying leisurely with the gait of his horse, "Maybe we ought to find a livelier title for us, aye gents?"

Elyan glances over his shoulder, "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know...King Arthur and the...jolly knights."

"Of all the words you could have chosen...jolly?" Arthur laughs with the others. "That is sure to strike reverence into the hearts of Albion."

"We'd be remembered, wouldn't we?"  
"I think we're bound to be remembered either way," says Leon, and though the words cause Arthur to fall silent, it brings a longing grin to Gwaine's face.

"I wonder what the history books will say about me," he muses.

"Sir Gwaine," Elyan begins with the far off whimsy of a poet, "A knight with locks more luscious than a lion's mane..."

"And the breath of a thousand ales," chimes in Percival, "acquired from his many conquered quests to taverns near and far..."

Arthur smiles, and all eyes turn to Leon, who seems taken aback by the sudden shift in their focus, "Uh, yes, and...feet fuming with the stale odor of a festering...badger." He finishes with a furrowed brow, as though uncertain of where any of those words had come from, but throwing their heads back, the knights and their king let out unrestrained howls of hilarity, even Gwaine, whose offense cannot stifle the overwhelming merriment of his comrades, chuckles along.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur notices movement in the brush that their raucous has provided a cover for. His laughter ceases as a hooded man emerges, bow at the ready. A pump of adrenaline shoots through his veins.

"Shields!" Arthur shouts. He snatches his own from his saddle and raises the golden dragon that emblazons the metal just in time to deflect an arrow that seemed to be aimed directly at his head. The knights take up arms and rear their horses into formation, flanking Arthur and facing the small band of men that now stands at the edge of the road.

Robin smiles as he surveys the warriors atop their steeds. He spreads his arms in a welcoming gesture, "No need to stop the fun on my account. I was just going to give you a bit of a shave, Wart. Nothing fatal." He rubs the stubble on his jaw, then steps forward to squint at Arthur, "Although...it looks like that beard has yet to come in, eh?"

"Perhaps we ought to give you a shave," says Gwaine vehemently, adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword, "After all you've done, you dare to waltz up to us like a peacock on display?"

"Gwaine," Arthur says in an attempt to calm him. He dismounts from his horse, a move that puts him more vulnerably in front of his foe, and makes the knights rigid with tension. "I gather you know why we're here, Hood. You've made that quite clear."

"Have I? Then let me make something else clear," he says, glancing around at the other outlaws, "We're not here to surrender. We're not here to make amends. We're here..."

"...because this is an ambush." The sudden rise in pitch makes Arthur furrow his brow. That is the voice of a woman. Apparently disguising one's gender is more common in Mercia than it is in Camelot, he thinks. He and the knights start risking glances to the treeline, preparing for anymore bandits that might come to join them, but the forest seems still.

"But we have a set of rules," says Robin. "Now _normally_ we'd say..."

"...tell us what you've got," a man finishes for him, nodding towards the carriage.

"Be honest with us," the woman warns.

The small man with a bandana, who Arthur remembers fighting in the square, steps up beside Robin, "And we'll take a tenth..."

"...so the poor can eat."

"Lie!" says the giant, who Arthur also remembers all too well.

"Or resist," the bandana adds.

"And we take it all," Robin says definitively, a smug grin playing on his lips as he looks to Arthur for his reaction. Arthur can only scan the group a moment, his eyebrows raised, impressed at the level of their coordination.

"I see you've done this before."

"But as I said..." Robin takes a few more steps towards Arthur, who can hear the creak of leather gloves as his knights tighten their grips on their swords, "that's _normally_ what we say."

"And what do you say now? Or do we get an encore?" Arthur asks. "Have a skit for special occasions, do you?"

"I do love a musical number," says Gwaine. "Perhaps you could add in one of those next time." The conceit has vanished from Robin's face, and he wets his lips to give himself time to collect his next course of action – one Arthur makes sure to be ready for.

Robin points to the carriage, "That money belongs to the people. Hard working people who are starving because of the ally _you_ so desperately seek. And we're here to take it back. All of it...your majesty." He bows to Arthur.

"I'm afraid I can't allow-" Arthur cannot even get the sentence out before Robin straightens his posture and strikes the nock of his bow underneath Arthur's chin, knocking him off his feet, and sending his shield skidding across the ground. He was not ready after all. He meets the hard earth with a grunt. Behind him, the horses whinny, his knights shout, and subsequent thuds can be heard as they dismount. Boots scatter about him, metal clashes against metal, and ricocheted arrows fall dormant to the dirt below.

Robin levels another arrow on him, "I'd rather not do it this way."

"Nor would I," Arthur redirects Robin's shot with a swift kick, sending the arrow flying into the treetops. He sits up to grab the belly of the bow, and thrusts it – along with Robin – to the ground beside him, wrenching the bow from Robin's grasp as he gets to his feet. Robin unsheathes his own sword and stands to face off against Arthur. "You don't have to lose your life at my hand. Yield and I can ensure you will be given a fair trial."

It is humorless, but Robin laughs, "Vaisey rules with a bias head and an intolerant heart. There is nothing 'fair' about anything he does." He brings his sword down towards Arthur, who counters it with a block and pushes him away to follow with a swipe of his blade. Robin jumps back to avoid it. The bandit's words come out staggered amidst their lunges and parries, "I admit I was shocked to hear you seek an alliance with him." He dodges a blow. "You are a star in the sky, Wart. Everyone looks to you in admiration." Arthur ducks, blocks, and strikes before pushing Robin away again, who continues to speak, "Quite a leap from our childhood, but given the acclaim surrounding your name, I thought you had managed to escape the corruption of your father. Apparently I was wrong."

Arthur clenches his teeth before striking out with a cry of rage. Robin blocks the attack, but stumbles back. With an ornamental twist of his sword, Arthur advances on him slowly, and they size one another up, their breaths baited with anticipation of the next blow. Arthur strikes from below. Blocked. From the right. Blocked. From above. Below. The left. Blocked. Blocked. Blocked. Their blades lock in a stalemate between their chests.

Stepping in close, Arthur seethes through his teeth, "Speak again of things you do not know and I will cut you down right here."

"I do not say these things out of malice, but out of truth!" Robin bites his lower lip, struggling to keep Arthur's sword at bay. "Actions speak for the heart!" Arthur can feel Robin's arms quiver with fatigue, but he doesn't pull back. Their resolute eyes do not waver from one another. "And I was witness to his cruelty! As were the druids, the sorcerers, the innocent who lost their lives out of mere suspicion, _Marian_! If you are a king of the people, then _listen_ to what they are saying!"

Arthur twists their blades free. He leaves no spare moment for Robin to rest, lunging at him to strike again from above. Blocked. From the right. Blocked. With every swing, Robin retreats a step or two and Arthur advances, the pair dueling their way into the cover of the forest. From below. Blocked. Left. Blocked. Right. Left. Right. Above. Below. Blocked. Robin kicks Arthur in the gut and follows immediately with a swing, which Arthur bends back to avoid, the tip of the blade grazing his armor with a sharp screech. They both take a step back, readying their swords.

"You're proving the wrong thing to the wrong man," Robin huffs, clearly running out of air. He keeps both hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Don't prove your worth as an ally to Vaisey, and go along with his schemes. Prove to me and to the people that you are a man of honor. Prove to us that you are not your father, but that you are merciful and just."

"I hear your words and would have them be sincere, but you judge others with limited knowledge and through speculation of their hearts," says Arthur, taking a step forward and throwing Robin off balance once more as he backs his way into the base of a hillside, the change in elevation causing him to teeter briefly. "Now I will judge you the same."

"Master!" Arthur risks a glance over his shoulder to see the small man wearing a bandana over his ginger hair running towards them. He is holding his side, pain etched across his face, but it is worry in his eyes rather than a plea for help.

"Do not interfere, Much!" Robin gives him a reassuring nod before turning his gaze back to Arthur, "Go on then." He knocks his blade lightly against Arthur's, sending a hollow ring through the thick air between them. "Judge me."

"You flout the law and encourage anarchy, spurring on the steward's paranoia, and therefore hindering any hope the innocent have at reasoning with him. You talk of bias and intolerance and yet you mock, humiliate, and terrorize the wealthy. You deceive and charm with words to keep friendships and gain trust, including mine. Is that not what you were doing just now?" Arthur motions with his sword to the area around them, bringing it back to point at Robin. "You are right, Robin, a man's actions reveal a great deal about a man's true nature. I don't deny that. And if we take a look at your recent activity, I would say...that you are a spineless failure, elevating a new set of ideals that he can thrive in to bring himself the glory that would otherwise be withheld."

The bandit in front of him visibly boils with fury until he can hold it in no longer. He yells out, striking his sword at Arthur, who blocks it and grabs a tight hold of Robin's wrist.

"Your attempts on my life and the lives of those around me have sealed your fate, Hood. I gave you a chance to surrender and you did not take it. You leave me no choice," Arthur hooks his leg around Robin's, swiftly pulling his feet out from under him and disarming him as he falls flat on his back against the hillside. With a sword in each hand, Arthur presses one firmly against the bandit's chest while the tip of the other one presses into his throat just beneath his jaw. A drop of blood begins to pool against the blade.

"Merlin..." Robin chokes out. At this very instant in time, he manages to say the one word that will peak Arthur's interest enough to still his blade.

He furrows his brow, easing off on his throat ever-so-slightly, "What?"

"Missing a servant, by chance?"

Arthur throws the spare sword away, kneeling down, pressing one knee into Robin's gut and the other into his bicep, withdrawing a grimace of pain as he pins Robin's arm to the ground. It is no longer the tip of the blade pressed to his throat, but the length of it. "What have you done with him?"

"Nothing yet," says Robin. "Spare my life and the lives of my crew and it will stay that way."

"Prove to me that he is in your possession."

"I thought you might say that." Robin gestures with his free hand, "May I?" Arthur eases off just enough to give him the space required to bring his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Arthur glances around, his heart pounding with the possibility that it is a signal to unleash more men upon them, but instead the four bandits fighting his knights abandon their battles and come to stand at Robin's side, the knights follow suit, settling protectively behind Arthur. They seem just as confused as he does, though he is pleased none of them seem to be injured beyond repair. Beyond his knights, he can see the carriage is gone, and he internally shakes his head at the cowardice of the drivers who left them to fend for themselves.

One of the bandits notices Robin's sword lying in the grass and decides to take this pause to retrieve it, but he is stopped by Gwaine, who lazily lifts his sword to point it at him, "Touch that and I'll run you through."

"Leave it, Allan," Robin instructs from his place on the ground.

Allan lifts his free hand to show his innocence, backing away, "Sorry, thought I might do a bit of housekeeping while we wait."

"What are we waiting for exactly?" Gwaine asks. "Reinforcements? Because I think you might be overestimating our generosity." Arthur thinks about admonishing him for his cheek, but on second thought he decides to survey the area as the same thought has been nestled in his mind as well.

"Djaq, go see what's taking Will so long, would you?" Robin asks, shifting uncomfortably beneath Arthur's sword.

But before she can take a step, Leon aims his crossbow at her, "No one is going anywhere."

"Why don't you aim that thing somewhere else, mate?" Allan says, a readied bow in his hands and pointed at Leon.

"Do you really want to get into this again?" Percival asks, adjusting his stance in preparation to defend Leon if needed. One by one the bandits and knights raise their weapons, each pointing at a different opponent in an attempt to cover any threats. Arthur simply keeps a look out from his place on top of Hood, not confident enough in the integrity of outlaws to order his men's weapons be lowered. The crunch of leaves and shuffling of feet come over the ridge, drawing Arthur's eyes to the top of the hill where a man escorts a bound and gagged Merlin.

"Merlin!" Elyan yells, and all of the knights tense up for a fight, the bandits instantly mimicking their fervor.

Arthur stares up at his friend, unable to see if there is any apparent abuse, "Merlin, are you hurt!? Give me a nod or a shake of your head!" Though Merlin shakes his head, Arthur still finds himself skeptical. He turns his attention to Hood, "We let all of you go, I forfeit a chance at a treaty, and you give me one servant. Tell me how that is a fair trade."

"It worked once," says Robin.

"I gave you one last victory, upon my word I will not give you another."

"Very well." Robin pretends to think, "The alternative is you kill me, Will kills Merlin, and what's left of our two bands battle it out to the death right here, right now. For good or ill, we can end this all in a matter of minutes. Or..."

Arthur cocks an eyebrow, "I'm listening."

"You let us go, we let Merlin go, and you come to Locksley in two days time," says Robin. "If you do not agree with what we are doing there, then I will personally walk myself up to the gallows in Nottingham and seal your treaty for you." A few murmurs of protest come from the surrounding outlaws, but Robin's face remains strong. "Do we have a deal?"

Arthur mulls this over for a few minutes, and wishes he had more time. Time to think and time to consult. This all lays on his shoulders. "You will keep your word?"

"I swear on...Marian's life. You have my word." There is a moment, however brief, when the two men's eyes connect and they understand the weight of the pact that has been made between them.

"Stand down," Arthur says so casually, the knights almost don't recognize it as an order. It isn't until Arthur puts away his sword and helps Robin to his feet that they begin to lower their own weapons. Reluctantly.

The bandits start to make their way up the hill, and it is clear by some of the limping and grimaces that they are eager for this encounter to be finished. But Will, still in possession of Merlin, does not move to untie him.

"Release my manservant," says Arthur. "You gave me your word."

"Yes, on Marian's life," Robin says as he gets to the top of the hill and turns to look down upon the men of Camelot. "Seeing as she is in the castle with you, ready for the slaughter should I break my word, I think it only fair for me to hang on to this lad to ensure you keep yours."

"That was _not_ part of the deal," Arthur quickly draws his sword again, though he knows he would be at a great disadvantage attacking from the lower ground.

"It is now," says Robin. "Don't worry, Wart, I'll see no harm comes to him." The outlaws disappear from the top of the ridge, pulling Merlin along with them.

"No! Hood!" Arthur clambers up the hillside, but only gets a few steps before Leon breaks through to his senses.

"It's no use, sire," he says. "Let them go." Arthur turns and spears his blade furiously into the ground where Robin once laid at his mercy.

"We'll get Merlin back," says Elyan.

Arthur strides back down the hill, jerking his sword from the ground as he goes. He says nothing, but continues through the forest toward where their horses wander aimlessly near the road. The knights offer no more words of encouragement, just follow suit by mounting their saddles and riding down the road, now riddled with dust, in the wake of their king.

* * *

Sometimes in life there is little more relief than the setting of the sun. The end of a day. When the veil is drawn, closing off the world and leaving all worries to be picked back up at another time, but only after one's mind has been allowed to rest, and the mire of strife has been washed clean from one's body. It was indeed a perfect evening for a hot bath, but it was not as relaxing as Arthur had hoped it would prove to be without Merlin's familiar rituals, instead he had to break in a new servant bestowed to him by Lord Vaisey upon hearing of Merlin's absence. Simon. A twitchy fellow, skittish, sent into a nervous frenzy at Arthur's every word, like a rabbit trapped in a cage with a wolf. When he asked for his towel, Arthur was certain the poor boy was going to leap from his boots as he flew to deliver it immediately into his hands.

Whatever the case may be concerning Simon's jitters, Arthur is glad to be rid of him for the night. He walks through the halls of Nottingham Castle, eager for more enjoyable company. He was tempted to join the knights at the tavern, but it seemed more prudent to update the steward on the day's events, and heaven knows several minutes with that man will suck you dry of any desire to socialize with another human being for the rest of the day. But he agreed to meet Marian, and he will not leave her waiting. Several minutes of solitude and a bath seems to have been enough to revive him from the steward's disapproval. He only hopes he will not receive the same from Marian.

Stopping at her door, he glances around for anyone who might see him, before facing it again. His eyes flickering to the handle then the intricate carvings etched in the wood. Did she intend for him to knock? As a covert operation, he is not sure he can risk being left in the hall to wait for her to answer. On the other hand, he could wind up in a much more startling situation if he were to walk into a lady's room unannounced. He learned that the hard way growing up with Morgana. Taking the safer route, he raps his knuckles lightly against the door to her chambers, taking special care not to disturb others in the hall who may be, as he hoped to time it, already asleep.

"She's not there."

Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin, cursing Simon for passing along his nerves, and turns to find Sir Guy standing there in the middle of the hallway with his arms folded tightly across his chest as if he materialized out of thin air. His watchful eyes surmise the worst from beneath the shadow of his brow. Arthur considers playing dumb about the fact that he stands in front of Lady Marian's door in the middle of the night, but unfortunately Guy is too clever for that.

"Oh," Arthur says lamely, then adds, "Do you know where I might find her?"

Sir Guy takes a few steps toward him, jerking his head to the side, "The king apparently had a nightmare. She'll be in his chambers, busy coddling him to sleep for quite some time. I hope you didn't need her for anything of urgency." There is an edge of accusation in his voice that makes Arthur shift uncomfortably. He dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

"No, not really."

"Well that can't be true, can it?" Guy glances at Marian's door then back at Arthur. "You've come so late, surely you have a pressing matter that needs seen to."

"It's...my eyes," says Arthur as he bows his head to rub one of his eyes. Neither of them burn, but they have recently begun to hold a dull ache from the nuisances of the day. "I'm afraid they're acting up again, and I thought she might have a remedy."

"I would think the infirmary would be a better place to start for that."

Arthur raises his eyebrows and points at him, "Quite right. I'll...go there now." He turns to leave, but Sir Guy speaks again, stopping him in his tracks.

"I would be more cautious, your majesty." Arthur faces him, and his annoyed drawl continues, "Nottingham is bountiful in very little, but it has been overflowing with talk of yourself and Lady Marian in recent times."

"Has it?" says Arthur, already not keen on where this conversation is heading. "What have they been saying that has you so worried?"

"Oh, I think you could offer more insight where that is concerned," Guy looms closer. "She seems to capture your attention whenever it is not on Hood."

"We're friends," Arthur makes sure his diction is clear. "We have been since we were quite young. Nothing more."

"Good," he says. "Because her affections are already spoken for." It is the way Guy must break their eye contact to say these words that makes Arthur confident in who he is referring to. The pools of grey mist wander over the hall, avoiding Arthur's gaze, as if it will prevent the feelings inside from spilling out. Jealousy? Sincerity? Even the coldest men must retain a warm heart to keep it beating.

Arthur breaks the silence before it grows too disquieting, "Well anyone in pursuit of Marian need not be threatened by me."

"No, I should think not," Guy suddenly looks at him again, "because pain has left its mark on you, hasn't it? Made you decent. You know what it is to have another man steal the adoration of the one you care for. And you would not wish that on anyone."

Staring up at the man in black, it occurs to Arthur that perhaps he is not as far above these masked men as he thought. He ridicules them for their deceit and lack of authenticity, and yet here he stands, wearing a porcelain mask of his own. One that portrays still waters of mirrored glass on the surface, but only masquerades the tremulous currents of his breaking heart beneath. In this sea of masks, he is not drowning, he is one of them.

"No," he concedes coolly, "I would not."

Sir Guy grins, "There. A decent man if there ever was one." He claps Arthur's shoulder a little too roughly, nearly making the young king stagger to the side. "I take it you remember the way to the clinic?" Without waiting for an answer, Sir Guy continues on his way, an air of satisfaction in his strut as he rounds the bend and out of sight.

Glancing around the vacant hall, with only shadows to keep him company now, Arthur lets out a breath. He rubs the perceptual knit in his brow, knowing sleep will do him a great deal of good, and suddenly he can think of nothing more pleasing than resting his head down on his pillow and escaping his plights if even for just a few hours.

* * *

A king's bed chambers becomes his sacred citadel. A place where he can allow himself to be nothing more than a man, free of the weight of the crown, and where the mask can be flung aside to bare his true self. But it is not a place that is completely impervious. In Camelot, Arthur has been woken from sleep numerous times due to pressing matters of state, and each time it taints his personal sanctuary a little more. Here in this guest suite, however, the darkness that suffocates him during the day becomes a security blanket at nightfall, stealing him into the void of sleep that cannot be disturbed. Or so he thought.

Barely conscious, Arthur hears the light tap of someone setting something on his bedside table. He stirs in an attempt to rouse himself from his slumber, but it is the hand that clamps over his mouth that jars him into action. He grabs his intruder's wrist and flings them over his body, pinning them to the bed with their hands immobilized above their head.

The tap he heard must have been a brass candle holder against the wood tabletop because its light flickers across his linens, which lay in disarray, and illuminates a halo of brunette curls scattered across his pillow and surrounding a face he did not expect to see.

"Do you welcome all intruders with such intimacy?"

"Marian!" Arthur quickly releases her and gets off of her, moving to sit back on his feet. She pushes herself to sit up, readjusting the hem of her skirts, which had fallen up to expose her knees. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you."

"I would be more concerned if you _were_ expecting me and chose to greet me thusly," she smiles, her voice is just above a whisper. It brings back memories of their nights conspiring as children, scheduling an infamous rendezvous in the late hours to sneak to the kitchens and sample the pastries for the next morning's breakfast.

"I tried to come to your room," says Arthur, "but I ran into Sir Gisbourne, and well, he's always a delight, isn't he?"

"I suggested we meet after nightfall so we could avoid that problem, but perhaps you will need a few lessons in the art of clandestine maneuvers first."

"There is nothing wrong with my maneuvers," Arthur assures her, though he forgets to keep his voice low. He glances back at his door, where several guards stand just outside, then looks at her again, furrowing his brow when he sees she's smiling. "What?"

"Can the great Arthur Pendragon have no faults?"

"I have plenty of faults," he says. "Just none that involved a lack of military competence."

"No, of course not," says Marian. "How foolish of me to suggest such a thing."

"Had Guy not come along, and had you been in your room as discussed, it would have been executed flawlessly on my part." Arthur studies her as she laughs and shakes her head, refusing to warrant his arrogance with a response. Her gentle features and kind eyes. It is difficult to imagine them yearning after the likes of such a severe and unforgiving man. "He is very fond of you."

Her smile falters slightly, looking down at her hands, "Yes, I know."

"But you don't return the sentiment..."

She glances at him again before slipping off of the bed, "Sir Guy is not all together disagreeable. I would go so far as to say he has his own charming qualities, but his integrity sways too easily beneath the pressures of the corrupt." She paces across the room slowly, looking for something unknown to Arthur. "Were he to find his footing and fight for the things he knows in his heart are right, then I might consider him further. As it is, I see no remorse in him for the injustices he has seen through to fruition. A passing regret, maybe, but it turns to acceptance all too easily." Rather than crane his neck to follow her as she walks behind him, he too gets off the bed, standing to face her as he hangs onto one of the bed's four posts. She stoops down to pick something up from the floor and walks to him, "They call me The Night Watchman, Arthur. That's what the mask is for. How could I ever be with the very man I work endlessly against to right his wrongs?" She presses a wad of cotton against his bare chest.

He takes it into his hands, realizing that it is his discarded tunic from earlier that night, and cocks an eyebrow at her, "Causing you a distraction, am I?"

While her smile is kept at bay, the mirth is apparent in her eyes, "You flatter yourself."

Arthur grins, but then works to orient his shirt in the dim lighting, "The Night Watchman...is that persona affiliated with Robin Hood?"

"No," she says, taking a step back and folding her arms. "Robin is a dear friend, I have already confessed that, but I fear working outside of the system will only cause more trouble for the people he is fighting to defend. Rebellion, theft, it creates more rules, more restrictions, and inadvertently gives the people more crimes to commit, whether they intend to or not. Take Brom for example." This captures Arthur's full attention, and he stops fiddling with his tunic to look at Marian. She continues, "Robin saved him and Catraine from the gallows, which is wonderful, but what now? They, too, are outlaws now, against their will, and will be executed if they are caught. I've discovered they have taken refuge in a small village south of Kirklees along the river Trent, so if the soldiers come looking for them they can flee by water or by land through the forest. That is no way to live a life. To raise a proper family." She takes the tunic from his hands, orienting it in seconds, and slipping it over his head for him. Arthur slips his arms through the sleeves, situating it over his chest and shaking his head as he tries to think of a different solution.

"What would you have done?"

She rubs her forehead with a sigh, "I would have worked within the system from the start. The people who accept my food and supplies are not accepting stolen goods or things bought with stolen money. They are free of guilt."

"If it is all legal, then why the mask?"

"Because the steward is starving and frightening the people of this kingdom into submission, and legal or not, I am creating a tear in his system," she says. "If he ever discovered it was me, he would have me executed for treason, insubordination, _anything_ regardless of whether I am actually guilty of it. The citizens cannot be sure they will last another day, and Lord Vaisey feeds off of that desperation. They are suffering. Robin and his men help secure their survival, but they cannot do it forever, and I cannot do this alone. And in our greatest time of need, here you come with your gallant knights." She rests a hand on his arm, her eyes that hold the same grey mist as Gisbourne's, yet thrive with a selfless compassion, plead up at him, "Can you not see that we need you, Arthur?"

Arthur searches her eyes, but he lifts his gaze over her head to the darkness that closes in around them, taking in a deep breath as the gravity of what she is asking him to do constricts his lungs like the scorching heat of the inferno's inescapable smog.

"My men and I came to Nottingham to secure a peace treaty with Mercia," he finally says, meeting her intense stare. "But..." Her grip on his arm tightens, this three letter conjunction giving her reserved hope. "...perhaps I have failed to acknowledge that it is not one man of status that makes a kingdom, rather it's the citizens as a whole. It is their allegiance I desire, their friendship I strive to earn, and their enemies that I and Camelot will protect them against."

"And if that enemy should happen to be the one sitting on the throne in the heart of their very own kingdom...what then?"

"If this enemy is proven to be who you say he is," Arthur brings up a hand to cup the side of her face, nodding with reassurance, "then Camelot shall take up their arms."

Marian beams, her eyes beginning to water at his words, but she closes them to keep the tears from spilling over and rests her forehead against his chest. He holds her close, wrapping a secure arm around her and cradling the back of her head, allowing this strong woman to give into the hardships that have preyed upon her and cry in the security of knowing that she is not alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

It is routine that Arthur should have to take part in a notably torture-some social affair from time to time, but he loathes it when it happens to be at breakfast. There is no time to mentally prepare himself for the day, and while he may be awake, his ability to small talk lies dormant somewhere in the recesses of his still slumbering mind.

Lord Vaisey sits at the head of the table, an array of freshly baked bread, entire fillets of fish, various makes of sausages, porridge, fruit, and more cheeses than Arthur knew existed arranged before him. At the steward's right hand sits King Leofrick in a chair that has been altered to suit his height deficit, with Marian as a buffer, and it comes as no surprise that the steward would not be fond of children, let alone one that will one day overrule his authority. To Lord Vaisey's left, Arthur has the misfortune of being seated next to Sir Guy, who – if possible – lacks more cheer in the morning than he manages to the rest of the day, though his attention seems to be not on Arthur and the topics of conversation at hand, but on the woman across the table from him, leaving Arthur to be the solitary audience member for the steward's endless blather. There is a brief lull in his monologue, and Arthur seizes it as an opportunity to divert their talk in another direction.

"My Lord, I was thinking...once I have entered into a treaty, I like to do all I can for my allies," he says, taking a sip of his drink. Across the table, Leo echoes the gesture, but lacks the same grace, sending water dribbling down his chin. Arthur smiles, but continues, "I wondered if there might be a way Camelot can assist in easing the strife of your citizens?" He exchanges a brief glance with Marian, who hides her faint smile with a sip of her morning drink.

"My, my," says the steward, "ink hasn't even stained the page and we're already discussing dual cooperation. I like your confidence, don't you, Gisbourne?" The stern man makes a noncommittal grunt before taking a rather large bite of his porridge. "Right," he continues. "In answer to your question, my dear king: no. Because what might look like undeserving hardship is in fact self-inflicted shortcomings brought about by an apathetic view towards the meaning of labor. If my people understood the importance of dedicated work, as yours do, I am sure they could pay their taxes and still have more than enough to thrive."

Marian opens her mouth to speak, but by the fire in her eyes, he knows whatever she intends to say will be a mistake. Arthur leans in towards the steward, encroaching in on Sir Guy's personal space and withdrawing a sneer from him, quickly speaking over her, "Your taxes, yes, I have been meaning to ask you...you see, my father rarely allowed me to take part in fiscal discussions, so I would love to receive a bit of insight from yourself on the matter if you're willing to share it with me."

Sir Guy watches him carefully from the corner of his eye, not daring to turn in his direction as it would bring their faces into a proximity that would not be of comfort to either of them. His brow knits together, "Is there a need? Camelot is known for being quite prosperous."

"Perhaps it can be even more so."

"Of course it can be!" the steward shouts. "Don't put a cap on wealth, Gisbourne. Your blasé attitude is exactly why you'll never go anywhere in life." Sir Guy leans back in his chair, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, and Arthur can only guess he is searching for restraint. "Except the grave, of course, I'm afraid we're all destined to go there. Some sooner than others thankfully."

Arthur and Leo both take a bite of bread, but the little boy stops mid-chew, his eyes widening at the steward's words. He looks around the table to see if anyone else is as alarmed by it as he is. When no one is, he resumes chewing his food, throwing weary glances at Vaisey every now and then.

"There are a few key things to remember when acquiring adequate funds for your kingdom," the steward says with a toothy grin. He holds up a finger, "The first is that while, yes, they are your people, you love them, you'll die for them, blah-dee-blah-dee-blah, all things noble...in return they are using you." Fluttering his eyelashes, his face melts into that of a sappy girl, and the tone in his voice shifts to match, "Oh, but they're innocent! They would never lie or deceive. They're hearts are made of gold and they can do no wrong!" Leo scrunches his nose with a giggle as he watches the steward's display. He is the only one, however, to find it amusing. Now pointing at Marian, Vaisey's voice deepens again, "That is what she would say."

"My Lord, you cannot-"

"Marian..." Guy interrupts her before she can get any farther, and, for once, Arthur finds he is thankful for the contributions of the man sitting beside him.

"But I say this: _False_!" Lord Vaisey slams his hand down on the table, creating a deafening silence over the room that is only interrupted by a soft hiccup from Leo, who must have been startled in the midst of taking a drink. "Mankind, above all, relies on survival instincts. When they are not simply being lazy to safeguard their energy and defend against the wear and tear of their bodies, they are hoarding, hiding, lying, thieving, whatever it takes to last another day with the least amount of toiling. They will play to your sympathies, tug on your heartstrings, feign distress to get you to provide for and serve them. They are leeches that will suck the life force from your kingdom if you are not careful."

"Camelot is not mine," says Arthur. "The kingdom _is_ that of the people. I should think it only fair that they expect some return out of what they put into it."

"Yes, exactly!" the steward exclaims before he has entirely swallowed his latest gulp of ale, the liquid spilling out over his cracked lips. "But they often expect far _more_ than they are willing to contribute. They claim they cannot afford, say, ten percent, and yet they expect all of our precious resources to be at their fingertips and pristine upkeep within the towns. It is a scam that would drain me of my profits!" He exchanges a look with Guy, then tries to add seamlessly, "That would, of course, go towards rebuilding the churches and fortifying our armies."

Arthur turns his attention back to his plate, unable to maintain eye contact with someone who thinks so poorly of people, and obviously so much of himself. The more he speaks, the less sense he makes, but fortunately for Arthur, the steward's love for his own voice is starting to serve as an advocate for Marian's earlier claims against him. Arthur picks at his food, noticing Leofrick picking up his fork to do the same, as he pushes further, "What do you suggest to overcome their deceit?"

"Ah, yes, I was just getting to that. Though this is where the little miss will get her do-gooder garters in a bind. Watch her face when I say this, it's really quite delightful," he licks his jeweled tooth as he turns his attention to Arthur, speaking very deliberately, "Tough love. Don't be afraid to make an example of one disobedient child. Because one snippity-snip of a tongue or swing from the gallows and the rest of the loafers will fall into line. They will suddenly be able to afford those taxes they claimed they couldn't before." He stares at Arthur another moment before whipping his head around to look at Marian, who keeps a stone face while focusing her eyes on her plate of half-eaten food. "Aw, nothing to say? I know you have something to say. Go on. Come, come. What is it? Where is that fire and useless passion that drives me up the wall, hmm?"

"I have been teaching her self-control, my lord, do not goad her and ruin my efforts," says Sir Guy, observing her intently.

"My Lord, if you'd please, Lady Marian has done nothing wrong, and is undeserving of being mocked in this fash-" but before Arthur can finish her defense, Marian fails to hold it in any longer.

"They cannot _suddenly afford_ anything," she says with a rising flush in her cheeks.

"Ah, yes, here we are!" the steward beams, propping his chin eagerly atop his fist to watch her intently, pretending to hang on her every word. As an afterthought, he whispers over to Arthur, "Watch. This is where it gets good."

Not caring whether he is finished mocking her or not, Marian begins speaking over him, "They are giving up precious income that would otherwise be used to put food on their family's table to assure themselves that they will not have to watch one of their loved ones die at your hand, and as a result are having to suffer through watching their loved ones starve to death instead."

Lord Vaisey grins, "It is a darling thing to witness when a woman tries to get involved in a man's world, isn't it your majesty?" Rather than risk his neck with a response that will undoubtedly anger either Marian or Vaisey, Arthur instead mimics Sir Guy's noncommittal grunt and raises a bite of porridge to his lips, pausing briefly when he notices Leo doing the exact same thing at the same time, even hesitating when he does. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur studies with suspicion as the little boy gulps down his spoonful and bites on his lip to hide an emerging smile.

"Admittedly, some truly can't afford it," the steward starts, drawing Arthur's attention back to him, though all interest in the matter is lost. He's heard enough, but Vaisey continues, "Those are the ones I was referring to earlier, who refuse to get off of their tookus and do some proper work. But the others...they can afford it." He slowly peels the skin from his fillet of fish, the scales glistening against the light, and savors it as he folds it into his mouth. Arthur watches him, resisting a grimace, and waits for him to elaborate, but the steward washes down his fish scales first with a few grapes. "Because, and you would do well to remember this, citizens _lie_ in the census to accommodate their self-preservation and lessen their contributions to this kingdom. I have seen it done. On more than one occasion."

"Dormancy, hoarding, trickery...it seems risky to generalize these offenses across an entire population," says Arthur. "How can you be sure your theory is fact?"

"They are still alive, aren't they?"

"Some are," says Marian.

"_Most_ are," the steward corrects, "apart from those made to be examples."

She does not wait for him to finish, "but there are others that are dying needlessly."

Lord Vaisey downs the last of his ale, "Boo-hoo! Were you not listening? Everyone dies in the end. We'd never stop crying if every life was worth a tear." He points at Arthur, his eyes lighting up with recall, "Speaking of which, I hope you have a fond farewell planned out for Hood. I will shed buckets of tears over the joy of losing that boy. Pity he couldn't meet his maker yesterday, I had his coffin already prepared with an engraving 'DEAD AT LAST'. For some individuals sooner will always be better than later, my sweet." He says, resting a hand over Marian's, who instantly retracts it from beneath his palm. "Ooh touchy. Or should I say...not so touchy. You and Gisbourne are truly a match."

Getting back to the meat of the steward's bumbling, Sir Guy turns his attention to Arthur, "I believe yesterday was the second time you have had to secede your chance of capturing Hood due to the inconvenience of your manservant. How did he manage to get caught in the first place?"

Silence falls over the table, waiting for Arthur's response, but he is unaware of it. He is too busy noticing the boy across from him, emulating his every move as he eats his breakfast, like a miniature reflection in a mirror. He lifts a piece of sausage from his plate, not surprised when Leo does the same.

"Are you mimicking me, Leo?" Arthur finally asks, oblivious to the others, his forkful of meat waiting in the air for its fate. The boy shakes his vigorously in denial. Leaning in, Arthur squints at him, "Are you sure about that?" Leofrick nods, but as Arthur slowly takes his bite, his pint-sized double does the same, and while Leo actually eats it, Arthur discards it at the last minute, foiling the little king's plans, and points at him victoriously, "Ah-ha!" Leofrick's tiny hand raises to cover his full mouth, his dimples pressing in as he laughs silently, bouncing in his seat.

All at once, it makes itself known to Arthur that three other pairs of eyes watch him speechlessly from around the table. Marian's lips are pressed firmly together in amusement, while Lord Vaisey's twist in confusion. He doesn't even look at Sir Guy, certain all he will find is disdain. "Sorry, I, uh..." he drifts off, motioning to Leofrick, but is unable to excuse away his distraction, so he clears his throat and raises his eyebrows expectantly, "Sorry, what?"

"Nevermind that." The steward leans back in his seat, running his fingers over his lips, "This gives me quite a lovely idea." There is a long pause, but he doesn't elaborate.

"And what would that be, my lord?" Sir Guy asks blandly in an attempt to humor him with an enthusiasm that does not exist.

Vaisey wiggles his finger back and forth between Leofrick and Arthur, "Why don't you two spend the day together? Hmm? Get his little majesty out of the castle for a while. You have the day off from Hood as it is, and I'm sure the king would enjoy it, wouldn't you?"

Leo gasps with a nod, looking to Marian, "Can we?"

She smooths his hair gently in an attempt to tame it. "That...is up to King Arthur," she says, smiling across the table at him.

Arthur forces a smile, not entirely certain how to occupy a child for an entire day, but not wanting to let down the pleading eyes of the child staring up at him, "Absolutely. Yes, of course."

"Wonderful!" Vaisey says, clapping his hands together. His zeal on the matter is something of a quandary that Arthur is not sure he should be thankful for or worried about.

Marian wipes her mouth clean and rests her napkin on the table beside her plate, preparing to leave, "If you don't mind, your Highness, I have a few errands that I would like to run this morning. Will you be able to watch the king on your own for a while? I won't be long."

"You need not worry, he will be in safe hands."

The men stand as she does, but it is Gisbourne who remains on his feet, "Lady Marian, allow me to accompany you."

"That won't be necessary, Sir Guy, thank you," she gives no explanation or excuse for her decline, the mark of a truly confident woman, and Arthur must divert his attention to his goblet, which he absently twists in place by its neck.

Once out of earshot, Vaisey feigns a shiver, "Brrrr, Gisbourne. I've had warmer ice baths. Try a smile every now and again. I hear it works wonders for a man striving to woo. Isn't that right, Arty?"

Arthur cringes, but nods, "I'm sure it never hurts."

Sir Guy grumbles something inaudible, shoving another bit of food into his mouth, while Arthur looks to the stairs to catch one last glimpse of Marian. He is sure she has many matters of her own to tend to on a daily basis, but something in his gut tells him he knows exactly where she is going.

* * *

"He has to eat, Much," says Robin. He's lounging back against a log by the fire pit, eating a bowl of chicken and potatoes which he picks at with his fingers, watching as Much struggles with what to do about their still bound captive. The absence of the gag is enough relief for Merlin, but without the use of his hands, it does make eating a challenge.

"Well, I'm not untying him. You never know what he's capable of."

"Do you intend to spoon feed him, then?"

"I should think not!"

The campsite is empty aside from the three of them, and while Merlin is well-versed in the daily happenings of a king or a knight, he is unsure at first of what a group of bandits spend their time doing. Apart from breaking the law, obviously. But maybe it takes more effort than he realizes. He's been on a few quests with Arthur to obtain something in someone else's possession, or to free friends held under lock and key. In a round about way, that is no different from stealing or aiding in a criminal's escape. And to be honest, this campsite does not look altogether unfamiliar. More elaborate than the ones he and the knights craft, but it is also far less mobile. The more he thinks about it, the less foreign these outlaws and their way of life begin to look.

"You have to be hungry, Merlin." Lost in his thoughts, Merlin looks up half expecting Gwaine to be the one sitting there, insisting that he get his fill. Instead, he finds an equally laid back Robin surveying him from across the dwindling fire.

"I could eat, yeah," Merlin says with a nod.

Robin gestures out a hand toward him and looks to Much, "Are you going to deny this poor man food? Let him starve?" When Much busies himself with the dirty dishes left behind by the others rather than answer, Robin ruefully shakes his head, looking into his bowl to decide what his next bite will be. "It's your choice...but I'd be willing to bet King Arthur won't thank you for letting his servant starve." He winks at Merlin before Much can turn to them again, then continues to wallow into his bowl. "In fact, he might just have a go at your other ribs. How's it feeling by the way? The gimpy one?"

"It just so happens it hurts...quite a lot actually," Much adds, caressing it tenderly and his face begins to grimace the more he thinks about it. "Feels like it's been trampled on by an ogre." His brow suddenly furrows, "Wait. Why does this all come down to _me_? You're the one who snatched him in the first place. I wanted to let him go."

"An ogre," Robin repeats with a chuckle, ignoring the rest of what Much has said. "Wart's certainly bigger than the last time I saw him, but I wouldn't call him an ogre."

"I'm not call-" Much begins to huff, but when he sees Robin's not paying attention to him, he turns to look at Merlin, holding up a finger, "I'm not calling him an ogre. I'm not. I'm certainly not."

Merlin smiles, forgetting that Arthur can be so intimidating for some people, "Believe me, I've called him far worse." This makes Robin lift his head, a broad smile on his face despite the fact that he's still chewing his latest piece of chicken.

"I like this one, Much. Loyal, but feisty. No doubt he's in possession of many useful skills as well. I don't know...what do you think? Should we keep him?"

Much laughs, standing with his collection of bowls that need washing, "You're joking. Are you joking? You had better be joking. The king will have our heads if we don't give him back."

"Nah, Arthur doesn't fancy decapitation," says Merlin. "Too messy for his liking." This makes Much smile, showing some relief, but Merlin goes on, "Quartering though...he does have a soft spot for that. Tarring and feathering..." Merlin nods, "that's always an enjoyable spectacle for him. Ooh! And throwing you to the lions. That might be his favorite. He is an animal lover, after all."

Much stares at Merlin with his giant blue eyes before immediately abandoning his cleaning duties, letting the dishes tumble ungracefully to the ground, and filling another bowl with stew, "Let's get you fed, huh?" He brings it over with a large smile plastered on his face, setting it beside Merlin, and stoops down to untie him. "Here we go...if anyone asks, let him—_them_, let them know we treated you with the utmost kindness. Wouldn't want to get a reputation for being cruel now would we, master?"

"No, not at all," the amusement on the lead bandit's face is apparent. Much pulls the bindings free from Merlin's wrists, and Merlin finds his shoulders are sore from being pinched behind him for so long. He rolls them to try to loosen the ligaments, and rubs the tender flesh on his wrists while Much quickly bustles about to regather the discarded dishes.

"I think that's everything," Much says as he looks around for anything he might have missed. Robin gets up from his seat, and rests his bowl on top of Much's pile, licking his fingers free of broth.

"Off you go."

"Right, of course," Much manages a free hand to point at Merlin before he goes, "Eat up, you!"

No one needs to tell him twice. Merlin dives into his food, savoring every carrot, every potato, every burst of flavor released by the herbs sprinkled over them. He glances up when Robin takes a seat on a log closer to him.

"Tell me, Merlin," he says, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles, "You aren't an average servant, are you?"

Merlin shakes his head to give himself time to swallow his mouthful of food, "No, I'm quite rubbish actually, but there is so much to keep up with," he takes another bite, talking through it this time, "there's the laundry, keeping his chambers clean, polishing his armor, getting his meals, plus everything Gaius needs me to do for him. He's the court physician, and I'm like his assistant, I guess you could say. With all that, in my defense, some things are bound to get overlooked."

"No...I mean serving isn't all you do for the king, is it?"

"Oh." Merlin chews slower as he thinks about the implications of what Robin is asking him. He drops the carrot in his hand back into the bowl and looks at him, "I promise you, I don't know anything more about Arthur's plans for while he's in Nottingham. I didn't even know we were _coming_ to Nottingham until we were already in Sherwood Forest."

Robin laughs, looking to the sky as he draws his legs in and leans his elbows forward on his knees, "I'm not trying to interrogate you. I just haven't seen someone so dedicated to their master since...well...Much." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction his friend vanished to head to the nearby stream. "And I know it takes more than cooking and cleaning to develop that sort of bond. So what was it?"

Lowering his eyes to his bowl, the events from the past few years swirl in Merlin's mind with an overwhelming answer to the question. All the things they have been through together. The trials, the quests, the wars, struggling to survive, to carve out lives for themselves, to become men others would be proud of while staying true to who they are. They were at each other's side the whole time. Through the good and the bad. Merlin had been there when Arthur could barely contain himself from skipping around his chambers with love for Guienevere and shared in his undeniable joy over her acceptance of his marriage proposal. But he had also been there when she crushed him. He had been there when Uther died, saw the tears shed, and helped to carry Arthur into a new day as king.

There is much that Arthur still does not know about him, so many things that must remain hidden for the good of everyone. But just as Merlin has put his life on the line for his friend all those times that to this day are obscured from Arthur's awareness, so has his friend risked his life for him. A servant, but one whose master never leaves him behind. Arthur helped him to defend his family and friends in Ealdor against insurmountable odds when it was of no benefit to him, but because it was important to Merlin. And though Arthur may not always understand the important moments that happen in Merlin's life, he is a part of them, rejoicing with him and mourning with him, regardless.

"It's...difficult to put into words," says Merlin.

"Give it a go, eh?"

Merlin picks at his food, thinking, "Alright...um, well...have you ever been walking through the woods and you come upon a river? And it's flowing so fast you're almost, sort of, drawn to it? You can't can't quite explain why, but you just have to go to it. To look to see where the raging rapids are coming from and where they're going?" He looks to Robin, who nods after a moment.

"I've never really thought about it before, but...yeah. I guess that's happened."

"Imagine that you're there, on the edge of one of those rivers, and the bank gives way or your foot slips, and suddenly you find yourself being swept away with the current, inescapable and terrifying, pulling you under." Though certain he is making little sense, Merlin is surprised to find Robin simply listening, not an ounce of judgment clouding his eyes. So he continues, "It's like that. It's like Arthur and I have been swept away by the same river. He keeps my head above the water, and I strive day by day to steer him closer to shore."

"Why not just preserve your energy and save yourself?" he asks.

The thought has crossed Merlin's mind before, especially at the beginning of it all, to abandon his destiny, leave Arthur behind, and start a life someplace where he doesn't have to hide who he is, where he can flourish in all his glory. But his life is not his own. It is meant for more than his happiness. "Because he is destined for greatness and I am destined to help get him there."

"Greatness, you say? Huh," Robin gets up, clearly not convinced, and tosses a pail of water over the simmering embers of the fire. He begins to stomp out the coals with a bit more vigor than someone who doesn't harbor some sort of resentment about the person in discussion.

"What happened?" Merlin asks, setting his bowl aside. "I know you two have a history, but Arthur has yet to tell me anything."

"As I would expect," he says, "Shame tends to silence a man."

So many questions spring into his mind, but just then, before he can ask any of them, something draws Merlin's attention away from the outlaw and to the thick patch of woods to his right. He stands, flitting his eyes from tree to tree as his breath becomes stagnant in his chest, refusing to come out. The palms of his hands become sweaty, and he can't be sure what has come over him, but whatever it is has caught the attention of Robin as well.

"What is it?" Robin asks, stepping out of the fire pit to come to Merlin's side. "Did you see something?"

"I...no, but I-"

"Over here?" Robin doesn't wait to listen, motioning towards the forest. He draws his dagger and starts towards the trees whose loyalties may have shifted to conceal a growing threat rather than defend the thieves and their camp. Staying crouched low to the ground, he creeps closer to the edge of the clearing, jerking with a start when someone suddenly rounds the trunk of a nearby tree, but his rigid stance quickly abates when the face of Marian emerges. He grabs her arm, withdrawing a small protest from her, and pulls her back behind the tree. Merlin can still hear them.

"Marian, you shouldn't have come here," Robin says, his head bobs briefly back into view as he cranes his neck to glance back at Merlin. "You risk compromising your-"

"Arthur already knows," her soft voice floats through the air before she reappears and continues towards Merlin. "You know, a smart captive would run if they are unbound and their captors are preoccupied." She smiles at him, and Merlin can only return the gesture, not quite sure why he hasn't attempted to escape yet either, apart from feeling that he should find out what he can about these outlaws while he has the chance.

"_What_?" Robin follows a few paces behind her. "If Wart knows we have to get you out of here, we have to go get your father before they can get to him. He'll have said something by now."

"You're...friends?" Merlin asks her quietly when she is close enough, glancing at Robin over her shoulder. Somehow he is not surprised.

She furrows her brow at his chin, taking it into her hand to study it, then meets his eyes, "A relationship that may prove to be useful momentarily..." She turns to face Robin again, "Do you think if I were afraid for my life, I would come to _you_ before saving my own father?"

Robin stops in his tracks, "He didn't tell Vaisey?"

"No, of course not."

"And you aren't in trouble?"

"No."

A sly grin creeps up onto his lips as the outlaw's entire body visibly relaxes, "Ah, so then this must be a _social_ call." He moseys closer, resting a hand on her waist, but Marian presses a hand against his chest to make him keep his distance.

"I'm afraid that ship has sailed," she says with a small grin of her own, taking Robin's hand from her waist and pushing it against his chest as if to give it back to him. Scratching his temple, Merlin takes a small step back to give them a bit of space.

"Has it? I'm not so sure...I think I'm still on board."

"At any rate," her tone clearly indicating a need to change topics, "I did not come to see you. I came for Merlin."

Merlin's ears perk up at this, his eyebrows raising with hopeful anticipation, "_For_ me?"

"Meaning she intends to take you with her," says Robin, his flirtatious demeanor slowly fading. He folds his arms across his chest. "But tell me why on earth I would agree to that."

"Because I am your friend, and in need of this favor."

"I let him go, Wart breaks the deal. He'd never see the good we do for the people of Mercia – not that it'd be enough for him to call off the hunt – but I have to try something if I'm to save my men from the fate they've carved out for me."

"Arthur will come to meet you," says Merlin. "I know he will. And I know you doubt his character, but you do not need a hostage to get him to give you a chance."

Marian nods in agreement, "He and I have an understanding."

"Ah, right, an understanding," Robin says. "Because we both know how well that worked out for the two of you before, don't we?" Merlin glances between them, wishing desperately that they would expound upon the past and its offenses that seems to want to stay hidden, tucked beneath the thick grudges of the people involved.

"He is starting to see sense," says Marian. "He has seen the poverty that surrounds us firsthand, and heard my testimony. This morning I saw the scrutiny in his eyes as he spoke with the steward that was not there when he first arrived. He does not doubt me or the plights of the citizens. It is _you_ he doubts. What better way to start showing him the true nature of your heart than to release Merlin in good faith?"

Robin laughs, "You think _I_ need to prove myself to _Wart_?" He shakes his head pacing away, and settling back down in his spot before the fire pit that now houses the remains of charred logs. "He should be the one to prove himself to us." He plucks a blade of grass from the soil beside him and holds it between his teeth. Marian glances to Merlin for help, but this is one conversation Merlin is unable to find contributions to give to.

She looks to Robin again, "He already has."

"Marian..." he groans, pulling the piece of grass from his mouth, and dropping his hand into his lap, "you forgive too easily."

"You judge too harshly," she counters. "If you are unsure of the man, then look to his followers. In them you will see reflections of the qualities he possesses himself. Think of Me, Merlin, Queen Annis of Caerleon – a woman you respect – recently pledging her loyalties to him. The people of Camelot, many of whom, though they showed respect, held the same disregard for Uther as you and I, but are now wholly behind Arthur as their king. They adore him. And Leofrick." She smiles, "I have never seen him take so keenly to a stranger before."

"The lad is blinded by Wart's fame."

"I think you are wrong," says Marian, "And I think your prejudices risk one of the only chances we have at freeing this land from Vaisey's reign. Arthur is willing to help that cause. But perhaps you are not ready to give up your spot of glory as the people's hero just yet. Maybe you prefer to have them dependent on you and maybe you are afraid of what you will become if they no longer need you. And if that is the case then show me you are a bigger man than this, Robin, because I will not stand by and waste my breath on someone unwilling to listen. You need to make these choices for yourself, and do what is best for the people."

Robin rubs his forehead, "You are getting worked up over a fragile hope."

"Fragile or not, he's giving us more than we've had in recent times." When she sees Robin's bitterness has stifled anymore of his willingness to converse, she turns to Merlin, "I hope to see you back at the castle soon, Merlin...for all of our sakes." Without so much as another glance in the outlaw's direction, she lifts the hood of her cloak and makes her way back across the clearing, disappearing into the tightly knit fabric of trees.

"Marian..." Robin calls wearily after her, though he makes no move to pursue her. He lets out a breath and lets his head drop back, the burden of it all too much to think about, and Merlin understands. The devotion of a friend is difficult to support when the one to whom they offer their favor is someone you find to be lacking in virtue. At the thought, Merlin suddenly finds himself thankful for the absence of Lord Agravaine in Nottingham during this already confusing time for Arthur.

But as grateful as Merlin is for Marian's words and effort in the matter of proving Arthur's decency, the only thing reiterating itself over and over again in the young dragonlord's mind is what she said about Arthur willing to help the cause. If that is true, it means that it will no longer be a matter of getting Arthur and the knights out of enemy infested lands alive, but of saving the people of Mercia as well. Camelot teeters on the edge of war with Mercia. And if a war with Mercia is on the horizon, it means that Morgana will not be far behind. What started off as an already dangerous task seems to have magnified tenfold. How could they have gotten themselves in this mess? Merlin sinks back down onto the log waiting at his heels, bowing his head to grasp it in his hands.

Much rounds the bend with a set of clean bowls, stopping when he sees the disheartened postures of the two men, "Did I..." he sighs in defeat, "I missed something, didn't I?"

* * *

She is already there. There is no indication of how long she has been waiting, or how she managed to gain access to the council room without being seen, but those are the petty things one does not ask of a high priestess. Sir Guy had expected to be the first one to arrive, but his strong, casual strides faltered as he entered the room and saw Morgana's lithe form standing in front of the window. She makes no move to turn away from it or even greet him. And he would expect no less.

Coming to stand at her shoulder, Guy can see something has her bothered. Though her chin is held high, the muscles in her brow waver with an emotion he can't quite define. It is the green eyes that stare out into the daylight and droop with sadness that give tell of her broken state. Still, he proceeds with caution as a wounded animal is often the most dangerous.

"My Lady...?"

"I always knew one day he would make a better father," she says. "Better than either one of us has ever known." Sir Guy tracks her line of sight to the training field in the distance. Beneath a large oak tree situated on the edge of the field sits a clump of knights with a woman, even from this far away, Guy can tell is Marian. Her regal posture as she sits in the grass is softened by the way her chestnut curls sway in the breeze, and no one else can have such beauty and grace in every movement they make. But that is not where Morgana's focus is at. In the middle of the field, wielding a pair of wooden swords, duels Arthur and King Leofrick, whose height barely reaches that of Arthur's belt, making plenty of laughs for the knights and Marian to share in.

He rests a hand on the edge of the window, propping the other on his hip, "If you are having second thoughts about-"

"No," she snaps with an air of desperation rather than anger, turning to face him. She stares up at him, her voice just above a whisper, "Do you have any idea what he has taken from me? The throne I was meant to sit in, the crown I was meant to wear, the power I was meant to rule with, the family, life, and happiness _I_ was meant to have. I should be in possession of it _all_!" Her fists clench tightly, and she pounds one against the wall. Her hand slowly falls back to her side, "I would have done a great many things for my people as Queen. Cut the chains of oppression from the ankles of those with magic, and allowed them to live freely. An entire race would no longer be hunted in Camelot, but accepted." Her lip twitches before rising into a disgusted sneer, "And what has he done with the same magnitude of influence? Nothing. Knighted peasants and pledged himself to a servant. All for his own benefit. Did he ever think to legalize magic? Did he ever think how that would have allowed me to return to the only home I have ever had and be with the only family of mine that remains? He and I could have ruled as brother and sister. But his selfish ambition and the fear Uther ingrained in his mind ruined everything. And now I have nothing."

"Then there is little to lose." He lifts his eyes to look back outside, "Which is why we have the advantage. He has everything to lose."

"All I need is his life, and everything will fall into place." Her eyes darken as they focus more pointedly on him, "And yet, his vivacity remains unhindered. Tell me, Sir Guy, why is that?"

He meets her gaze with undaunted resolve, "While escorting the collection, the real outlaws attacked Arthur and his knights. My men couldn't very well join in without being exposed by Hood as frauds. There was nothing I could do."

"What was the outcome of the battle?" She glances over her shoulder to the knights before returning her gaze to Sir Guy. "Clearly the men of Camelot finished things out unscathed. Does this mean Hood is in captivity?"

"Not exactly-"

"Tsk tsk!" Lord Vaisey's voice breaks the peace of their intimate huddle as he comes to join them, closing the door loudly behind him with inconsiderate form."Started the party without me? Look at you two. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Lady Marian has found herself some competition." He grins as he approaches, "My Lady, it is a pleasure as always."

Sir Guy closes his eyes to keep from rolling them before breaking his stance to address the steward with a small bow, "I was just about to inform the Lady Morgana of all that transpired during the knights' encounter with Hood and his men."

"A short discourse, to be sure," says Vaisey, "since Camelot's king does not seem interested in sharing the complete details."

"He is withholding information?" She asks, looking between them.

Guy folds his arms across his chest, "Amidst their skirmish, it came to light that Hood had kidnapped the servant boy. He used Arthur's strange attachment to him to buy himself and his men another victory."

Turning to peer out the window once more, Morgana furrows her brow, "So then where is Merlin now? I assume it was a trade; freedom for freedom."

"We can't be sure," says Guy, leaning back against the wall adjacent to the window. "Hood still has him."

"It seems our beloved king has made a pact with the bandit to get him back, but the details of which, he feels, are best left tucked away within that blonde little head of his." Vaisey paces over to the table where a pitcher of wine waits for them.

"Have you confronted him on his secrecy?" Morgana asks. "What reason does he give for playing his cards so close to his chest?"

"Courtesy," says the steward, filling his goblet to the brim. "He assures me that this is his problem to deal with and that I needn't worry myself over it."

She offers a pained smile with her taunt, "How kind of him."

"This is hardly a set back," says Sir Guy. "Even without all of the necessary information, we still may be able to use this to our advantage."

"What do you have in mind?" Morgana asks.

Guy smirks, pushing himself off of the wall, "What? And allow your brother to show more courtesy than me? No..." He reaches out to take a light hold of her chin, "You needn't worry, my lady. Leave this to me."

"Your intrigue is overwhelming," she says. "Will you not gift me with an enticing clue?"

"Yes, Gisbourne, give us something," Vaisey chimes in from his seat that the table where he enjoys his drink, "Your reserve is more concerning than encouraging."

Dropping his hand from Morgana's face, Sir Guy glances between them before directing his view out the window, "I have a man of particular strategic value positioned within their ranks. Nothing will be a secret for long." He looks down at the training field, where the two kings continue to brandish their wooden swords, parrying and blocking with juvenile ease. Arthur turns his head towards the tree that shelters his friends from the sun, presumably distracted by something one of them had called out to him, but in that moment of inattention, young Leofrick swings his blunt weapon, slamming it into the crest of Arthur's shin.

* * *

"Ow!" It is an involuntary shout that Arthur immediately wishes he could retract as it sends the knights and Marian howling into laughter, but it is only after he joins in – though more to mock them than anything else – that Leofrick begins to giggle as well. This brings a genuine smile to the older king's face as he attempts to walk off the throbbing pain that radiates up his leg by circling the curly-haired boy.

"Need reinforcements there, sire!?" Gwaine calls from where he reclines against the tree trunk, crunching on a fresh apple.

Percival cups his hands around his mouth to help him project, "Perhaps you'd like me to fetch you a cane!" Arthur straightens his posture, refusing to let his men see him hobble anymore.

"See? I should have listened to my own advice," he says to Leo, wiping the sweat from his brow. Unlike the knights, he doesn't have the luxury of shade to spare him from the heat of the day. "Never take your eye off your opponent during battle."

Leo bounces in place, beaming with renewed energy, "I really got you, Arter!" He strikes at Arthur again, but this time Arthur is ready, and easily blocks the boy, who is so light he stumbles forward from his own momentum, falling to his knees. Arthur catches him by his arm before he can fall face first into their locked blades, and pops him back onto his feet.

"Now remember what I said about your feet?"

"No tippy-toes..." Leo sighs.

"That's right," says Arthur, positioning his own feet to better show him how it's done, "Take a wide stance, plant your feet, and keep your knees bent." He watches the little boy as he tries to copy him, clearly putting too much thought into it as he budges his feet ever-so-slightly to get them just right. Arthur cracks a small grin at Leo's intensity, "There we go. That way, your weight is fixed to the ground. You won't be able to be knocked over very easily. But also, your legs are then ready to dive or dodge in any direction you need to go."

"Rawr, rawr!" Leo growls, pretending to lunge and kill several monsters around them from the comfort of his new found bearings.

"Good," Arthur moves to adjust Leo's arms for him. "Now keep your elbows in as much as you can. The farther you extend, the less control and the less power you'll have in your swing."

A feminine shadow falls in front of them as Marian comes to join them, "At this rate, he'll be a proper warrior before he can even go to bed on his own."

"I've never trained them this young," Arthur says, standing tall after seeing that Leo no longer needs his guidance. "But he seems to be picking things up quite easily."

"Rawr!" Leo growls again, running down the field to slay an invisible foe. He tries to twirl his sword as Arthur habitually does, but drops it into the grass. "Oh no!" Kicking at his opponent, he must have given himself enough time to get away because he cartwheels ungracefully and retrieves his sword, thrusting it into the empty air, crying out in victory.

Arthur motions towards the pretend battle unfolding out in front of them, "I'm not very good at playing. I never know what to do or say, but," he shrugs, looking at her, "what little boy doesn't want to learn how to swing a sword?"

"He doesn't care about the quality of your imagination, Arthur. All he cares about is that you are taking time out of your day to be with him. Few people do that," she says. "And certainly no one has ever set aside time to show him these sorts of things before."

"Not even you?"

"He is not as eager to learn swordsmanship from a lady as he is from a proper knight," she glances over his shoulder and a smile starts to form on her lips, "but now that you have given him a few pointers, maybe Leofrick in return can teach you a thing or two."

Letting out a snort, Arthur cocks an eyebrow at her, "I don't know about that."

"Marian, no!" Leofrick suddenly yells from his place farther down the field, "I'll save you!" As the little boy starts charging towards them, Arthur's brow knits with confusion. He looks to Marian for some sort of explanation.

"You're never to old to learn how to play," she says. Before he can protest, or even fully register what he is getting himself into, the tiniest knight Arthur has ever seen is upon him, brandishing his wooden sword with all of the techniques previously taught to him. He blocks an onslaught of attacks.

"Let her go, foul man!" Leo demands, adding his own sound effects to their sword fight, complete with the _clank_ of metal and the _whoosh_ of his blade flying through the air. Arthur is at a loss for words, though the laughter of Marian and the cheers and jeers of the knights are of no help.

"No!" Arthur shouts back, his face contorting at the lackluster dialogue of his own choosing, but Leo must have taken it as the sneer of a villain because, despite his naturally meek voice, he advances with a battle cry. Arthur pushes Marian, his captive, behind him.

"Save me, Leo! Save me!" she cries, and Arthur can't help but shake his head with a laugh, the words sounding preposterous coming out of her mouth. "Oh, shut up," she mutters, only loud enough for Arthur to hear, and hitting him lightly on the back.

Then Leo suddenly stops, his sword falling slack to his side and the demeanor of his heroic persona returning to the timid boy from earlier. "Wait," he says, holding up his small hand. Arthur stops. He lowers his own sword and relaxes his stance. "There's someone else."

"Someone else?" Arthur asks, and he is relieved to have a break in their play so that he can fully flesh out the scenario he has been thrown mercilessly into. "You know, I was wondering about that. It seems only right that a man of evil tendencies, such as myself, would have a henchman or two to help fight his battles." He pauses, scratching the back of his head as he thinks, "Or minions. I think minions sound more villainous."

"No..."

"You don't like that? Alright, well," he says, twirling his wooden blade absently, "there's always giants or minotaurs, though I prefer minotaurs. They aren't as daft, and happen to enjoy feeding on children and maidens." He points from Leo to Marian. "Convenient for me."

"Arthur," Marian scolds, though it only makes him grin.

"What do you say to that, eh, Leo?" He flips his sword skillfully into the air before snatching the hilt again and pointing his blade down at the boy. "Minotaurs then?"

"No..."

Furrowing his brow, Arthur drops his weapon to his side with a shrug, "Well, what then?"

"Servant!"

"A servant," Arthur repeats blandly. "I'm not quite convinced that's the most menacing of adversaries you can think of. Surely I deserve to have followers a bit more fierce."

Leo sighs with exasperation, and it is the first time Arthur has ever felt belittled by a child, "Not a servant here...there!" He thrusts a finger out, pointing past Arthur and Marian. At first, Arthur cannot fully determine whether they are still playing or if they have reentered the real world, but the boy points with such conviction that he and Marian have to turn to see if anything is there.

Lo and behold, ambling across the field, his gangly arms flapping at his sides and his dopey smile beginning to spread across his face, is Merlin. He is still a ways off, but the knights have also taken notice of his return.

"Would you look at that," says Leon, abandoning his afternoon wine to get to his feet with the others. They all linger another moment in their clump beneath the tree, none of them wanting to expose their eagerness and be the first to approach him, all except for Gwaine that is, who hands his half-eaten apple to Percival.

"He always manages to turn up in the end, doesn't he?" He says before hurrying out to meet him. Percival cringes at his hand, now covered in Gwaine's saliva, and tosses the apple aside before following after him with Leon and Elyan in tow.

"This was your doing, wasn't it?" Arthur asks, looking down at Marian as he comes to stand at her side. "One of your errands from this morning?"

"That would make things easier, wouldn't it?" she says with a faint smile, "Just imagine how painful it would be if you actually had to give Robin a bit of credit."

"Oh, I do," Arthur hands her his toy sword, "I credit him for heeding good advice when he hears it." He smiles and starts towards the mass of knights that now mostly conceals Merlin from view as they all try to get their greetings in, slapping him on the back and offering their delight over his return. Leofrick, not wanting to be left out of the celebration, runs past Arthur to join the men of Camelot, slipping between their legs and jumping up and down with joy, cheering their friend on. His enthusiasm spreads to Merlin, who stoops down to greet him.

As Arthur approaches the group, the knights step aside to make way for him, and Merlin pats the top of Leofrick's head, standing to face his king. He spreads his arms out to his sides briefly as if to say _here I am_, but he stays silent, letting his actions speak for him.

"I'm glad to see you back in one piece," Arthur says, though upon closer inspection his smile fades slightly. He is not alarmed by the wound on his servant's chin or the dried blood that surrounds it, but rather by the fact that his smile, which is so often embodied by every part of him, cannot even manage to reach his eyes. It is more than fatigue. More than trauma. Something's very wrong.

"What a champion," boasts Percival, ruffling Merlin's hair, "Hardly a scratch on him."

"How did you manage it?" asks Leon.

"He's Merlin, that's how," Gwaine says, slinging an arm over Merlin's shoulders. "But I'm sure there's a great tale behind it, eh?"

"Oh, well..." Merlin scratches at his temple, all of the intrigue surrounding him starting to make him bashful. His eyes connect briefly with his king's, and Arthur can see the light in them is indeed dim. Stepping forward, he contemplates how to fend off the well-intentioned chatter of his men.

"No need to be modest, Merlin," Elyan says, backhanding Merlin's gut lightly. "Not many can say they've outwitted a band of outlaws single-handed."

"Gentlemen," Arthur walks into the middle of their circle to break them up a bit more, coming to stand beside Merlin, "Dinner is almost upon us, why don't you head inside to clean up and give us a moment?" He does not mean to dampen the mood, but it is clear by the sudden lack of laughter and the reserved expressions of his knights that they, too, have come to realize there is more going on than is being said.

"Of course, sire," says Leon, starting to usher the knights from the field. Gwaine glances between Arthur and Merlin before his gaze falls to the ground and he follows suit, slipping his arm off of his friend and making his way towards the large oak to gather their things.

"Come along, Leofrick." Marian bends down to scoop him up into her arms. "What do you say to the king for spending the day with you?"

"Thank you..." he says softly with a small pout forming on his lips. Marian offers a smile, exchanging glances with Merlin before heading toward the castle, and Arthur can hear Leo's voice again as he talks to his handler, "Do we have to be done already?"

Instead of waiting to see if he can hear a response, Arthur shifts his stance to face Merlin. The two friends don't say anything for a few minutes, but when Merlin turns his focus to the grass at his feet and shuffles the toe of his boots lightly against it to rid them of some of their dirt, Arthur knows he will have to be the one to break the silence.

"Merlin, what happened?" he asks. "One minute, I'm sending you off with a list of tasks to do and the next I find out you're being held captive by Hood. Is the tavern not an exciting enough place to avoid my orders anymore?"

"It's not that," Merlin says, not even biting at Arthur's joke. "It's just..."

Arthur waits for him to go on, but when he doesn't, he rubs his forehead, "I'm not going to needle it out of you, Merlin, I have enough to think about as it is. If you are going to tell me what you need to then do it now."

"I don't know where to start..."

"Pick a spot. I'm fluent in your prattle by now."

"I...overheard Sir Guy and Lord Vaisey talking in the hallway," he says, looking around, though fortunately for them there is nowhere for someone wishing to eavesdrop to hide in the middle of a field. "They spoke of a bargain they had made with an unnamed woman, and how they were worried of sparking war with Camelot if they weren't careful."

"They lack integrity, I've already gathered that much for myself," Arthur says, glancing back at Marian's retreating form, unsure of how he is going to break the change of plans involved with that revelation to Merlin. "But I have been-"

"Morgana is here," Merlin interrupts, nearly out of breath with nerves. He steps closer, his eyes consoling, "Arthur...I followed Sir Guy into the woods where Morgana was waiting for him. They're all working together."

Arthur searches his friend's face, hoping to detect anything but the truth that he knows is ultimately there. His throat constricts, and the growing lump in his stomach churns until it rises painfully within his chest. Knitting his brow together, he tries desperately to suppress the emotions that threaten his unwavering fortitude, "You're certain?"

"Beyond a doubt," says Merlin. "They mean to kill you, Arthur. The fire, the attack at the pub... it wasn't Robin Hood. It was them. Gisbourne's men. I heard it confessed from their own mouths."

"And they are using Hood as a cover." Unable to even look at him, Arthur turns his gaze towards the woods beyond the field, "I should have known. I should have listened sooner...but, as is the Pendragon curse, I became prideful, Merlin. Prideful of Camelot, of my men, of myself. And in striving to prove our excellence, this whole time, I've been playing right into their hands." He lets out a breath and bows his head to rub his brow, this time with more force as the ache in his head grows.

"This isn't your fault."

"Yes, it is!" Arthur snaps his head up, the swell rising within his chest no longer sour and bilious, but heated and uncontrollable. "_All_ of it, Merlin. Not out of principle because I am Camelot's king, but out of brutal honesty because I have been a fool. It can't be excused away. If things go wrong here, it is _entirely_ my fault. If my men, some of the kindest and most noble of men I have ever known, lose their lives here, it is I who stripped them from this earth before their time. All because of my pride and arrogance for thinking I could do better than my father. Do you know what he would have done?" Merlin doesn't respond. "Hmm?" Arthur raises his eyebrows, daring him to offer insight, but he gives none. "He would have said from the _very_ beginning that if Vaisey desired a treaty with Camelot, he can sign at the bottom of the agreement and be done with it, otherwise it is forfeit. It would have been Mercia's responsibility to extend the olive branch, to which Camelot would be waiting with a gracious hand to receive it. There would have been none of these...games." He waves a hand in the air and paces away, simply needing to move and release some of the pressure building on the spring coiling tighter and tighter within him.

He hears Merlin following after him, "I know you're upset, but-"

"You know," Arthur says, turning back to Merlin so quickly, Merlin nearly stumbles on his own feet to stop before running into him. "I would really just prefer to not talk about it for now. You're back. We can count that as one victory. And Vaisey doesn't know we are onto him. We can count that as another. But I'll need you to find a place for the knights and I to talk in complete privacy. We'll meet there tonight to go over the next course of action." Arthur continues towards the castle, his frustration making his speed difficult to match

Merlin raises his eyebrows and hurries to keep in stride with him, "You already have a plan?"

"Not in the least."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

There was only one place Merlin could think of that would offer the men of Camelot a secure place to council without drawing too much attention to themselves, but even with leaving their formal garb behind, they still thought it necessary to stagger their arrival to the meeting place as to avoid detection. The people in Nottinghamshire are impressively perceptive; they manage to take notice of everyone who would rather remain unseen.

Gwaine offered to be the first to go, rather eager to have the duty of claiming their spot resting on his apt shoulders, given the situation, while Elyan and Leon were to follow shortly after. Percival was next in line to arrive, giving a good half an hour between the previous knights' leaving and his coming. It must have been a successful ploy because all four of their horses are found tied to the post outside of the building as Arthur and Merlin come to round out their ranks.

"This is your brilliant location of choice?" Arthur asks, swinging his leg over his saddle and hopping to the ground. "If you're going to keep something a secret from me, Merlin, you might as well make sure the reveal proves to be satisfying."

Merlin stares up at the sign for the tavern; its chains squeak as the splintered wood clatters lightly against the side of the battered structure. "What? I thought it was clever." He hops down from his own horse and tethers it beside Arthur's. "Haven't you ever heard of hiding in plain sight?"

"Heard of it, yes," he rolls up his sleeves as he starts toward the front door, "but I'm not as well practiced in it as you are."

Merlin hurries to catch up to Arthur, "What's that supposed to mean?" The sounds of the ruckus housed within follows a pair of drunken customers as they bang the door open. Arthur catches its lip and holds it open for them as they stumble across the threshold.

"You hit the ground during battle more than anyone I know," he says, cocking an eyebrow at a particularly loud belch from one of the men passing them by. He looks over at Merlin, "I hate to break it to you, but our enemies can still see you even when you are cowering with your tail between your legs." Arthur gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, as if he has just crushed one of Merlin's childhood beliefs, before walking into the tavern. If only he knew just how well hiding in plain sight has served Merlin over the past few years...

Inside, Arthur is already scanning the tables, looking for the knights. It is a much livelier place than some of the others they have seen in the area. Merlin notices that not a single seat is available; they are all occupied by folk laughing and celebrating, though over what, he can't be sure, but whatever it is has sent the lone barmaid behind the counter into a frenzy, filling drink orders left and right without a moment to spare. The hubbub is almost overwhelming.

"You gents sure picked a fine night to visit," says a second barmaid as she approaches with a bright smile on her face and a full pitcher in her hands. Merlin rubs his throbbing temple, letting Arthur do the talking.

"It appears so," he says, "Is there a specific occasion we are drinking to?"

"The kindness of others, I guess you could say." Merlin furrows his brow at her answer; while a respectable thing to praise, the prospect of such a festival feels so out of place in Mercia, especially given that their taxes were hauled away only just yesterday. But she continues, "A patron arrived this evening, offering to buy everyone's drinks for the night." Her smile widens at the words, "It is a good night for the customers and owner, alike to be sure. Shall I help you to find a seat?"

"Actually..." Arthur's eyes drift across the room again, "we're looking for a few friends." Just then, a high, quick whistle draws the attention of all three of them to the balcony above where Gwaine hangs over the railing, his face mostly concealed by his cascading hair, waving down at them. "That...would be one of them."

"Ah, the patron himself," she says. "Follow me." Merlin and Arthur exchange amused glances before following the petite blonde up the stairs. She leads them down the second floor hall, past several embracing couples, which, though the barmaid and Arthur simply brush by them, Merlin hugs the wall to keep as much distance from them as he can; there are also several men slumped in a stupor over the railing, but none of them, thankfully, are Gwaine, who has already disappeared. Arthur needs a lot of things right now, but a drunken knight is not one of them.

"I thought you would look more at home, Merlin," says Arthur, "Isn't this your preferred sort of resting place?" One day, Merlin knows he will have to straighten his king out on just how little he actually frequents the tavern, but seeing as Gaius will only be growing older, and his mind only becoming more senile, it is a cover they will have to keep in tact for now when in need of an on-the-spot alibi as to why Merlin is nowhere to be found.

"I don't like new places," he offers as an excuse.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Arthur slows as the maiden approaches a closed door; the muffled voices of Elyan and Percival permeating from between its slats.

She opens the door to escort the two new party members inside. "Here we are..." There is a moment when Sir Leon begins to scoot out his chair, as if making to stand for his king's entrance, but mid-motion he recalls that they are undercover, and as far as the citizens in this building are concerned, there are no members of royalty here. He pauses. All eyes on him. Then, to make it seem intentional, he keeps his seat slid out, lounging back and propping a foot up on his opposite knee.

Percival does his best to smooth it over, pointing at the barmaid's necklace, which has slipped out from beneath her neckline, as she leans over the table to refill his tankard, "That's a beautiful gem." Taking a seat at the table, Merlin glances at it – an ornate scroll of silver with a jade drop hanging from it – before she conceals it within her fist, almost protectively.

"A family heirloom," she says with a frown.

"Oh," Percival nods with a smile, pretending to seem interested. "It's a lucky thing you weren't stripped of it during the tax collection."

"Not all of us are so destitute," she sets the pitcher down onto the tabletop rather roughly, her mouth forcing a smile when she looks to the others. "If you find yourselves in need, of anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

"We'll be sure to do that," says Arthur. "Thank you."

The door shuts behind her, and everyone turns their attention to Percival, who sits up taller with an astounded knit brow, "What did I say?"

"Let this be a lesson to us all," Gwaine says. "Leave the beguiling of women to me."

Merlin, along with Elyan and Arthur, offer humored smiles, but the normal inclination towards jesting among the group has diminished; it began this afternoon when an ambiguous shadow of concern followed Merlin into Nottingham from the forest. But only he and their king know the details of the trouble that haunts them, and that is enough to leave Leon and Percival somber amidst Gwaine's dallying. With a lack of support, Gwaine's face falls to concern, and the knights direct all of their focus to Arthur, who silently pulls his tankard closer, but does not drink.

"Gentlemen," he finally says, "first and foremost, I must apologize. I have lead you astray." No one responds. No one knows how to, but Merlin can sense the staleness in the air as the uncertainty within the knights keep them from breathing easily. Arthur lifts his gaze, looking each and every one of them in the eye as he speaks, "Some information has come to light that has caused me to question our mission and, in the end, has greatly altered the nature of our visit." He presses his fingertips down into the tabletop, "This may not be the round table, but we still sit here as equals. Your opinions on this matter mean more to me than you can possibly comprehend, so I ask that you speak freely and with the utmost honesty...Merlin..." Arthur gestures toward him, "Tell the others what you heard."

Taking a long pause, Merlin tries to gather his thoughts. There is so much to say, and yet without knowing how long they will have uninterrupted, he must remain concise. "I overheard a conversation yesterday, one that revealed the steward's true intentions for having us here." Merlin looks between his friends, their faces full of concern and dread; he hates to be the one to make their fears a reality. "He does not desire a treaty with Camelot," he continues. "In fact, he wishes to cripple Camelot with the death of their king, so that his true ally may ascend to the throne."

The knights all turn to Arthur, who keeps his entwined hands resting against his lips, his gaze down at his drink. Merlin can't help but think of Robin's words from earlier. _Shame tends to silence a man_. And he knows that what Arthur is feeling is, in truth, shame. For not discovering this sooner, for not seeing the steward's real motives. When he says that it is all his fault, he means it, he believes it, and he carries the weight of it.

Leon sits up taller, scooting his chair back in to lean onto the table, "But who? Who is his ally? Surely Odin or Helios would not call upon the help of Mercia to fight their war for them. They are far too prideful for that."

"It would have to be someone who does not already have an army behind them," Gwaine says, looking to Merlin, nodding for him to confirm his suspicions, "Merlin..."

Swallowing hard, Merlin finds it is still difficult to say her name even after all this time; not out of fear, but out of respect for Arthur, who still grieves her loss, "Morgana." The name instantly withdraws silent groans from the men around the table, who run a hand through their hair, rub at their temples, rock back in their seats, or do anything to create movement. The information is too much to allow them to sit still.

"Slimey bastard," mutters Gwaine from the end of the table, "Should have known a gluttonous fool like that would be seduced by her power." The statement, while made with good intentions, does nothing to raise their king's spirits, but rather encourages his insecurities. Merlin can see it as Arthur consciously takes a breath and lowers his head to massage his brow.

"But what of Hood?" asks Elyan. "Is he on their side as well?"

Merlin shakes his head, "Robin Hood and his men have no knowledge of Vaisey's ill intent towards Arthur."

"So it is just a coincidence, then," says Sir Leon with a furrowed brow that exudes skepticism rather than worry, "that they have tried to kill him on multiple occasions?"

"All attempts save for the latest were not their doing," says Merlin, "It was-"  
"It was Gisbourne's men," Percival finishes as realization hits. He shakes his head with a humorless laugh. "And I didn't even think twice about it."

"Nor I," says Elyan.

"Nor did any of us," Arthur says, dropping his hands lifelessly down onto the table. "But now we know, and we can use this to our advantage. Vaisey will continue to play nice as long as he thinks we remain unaware."

Gwiane shifts in his seat to face them all more directly, "But what does it matter? We have our horses," he says, extending an arm towards the door, "why not just leave before they can strike again? By the time they figure out _we__'d_ already figured _them_ out, we'll be safe within Camelot's borders."

Silence falls over the room, and Gwaine seems all but beside himself that no one else thinks it's an obvious course of action. Arthur plays with the handle on his tankard, alternating between biting and pursing his lips, deep in thought. The other knights wait patiently for him to speak.

"It's...not quite so simple," he finally says. He takes a breath, lifting his head to look around at his men, "And this is where you all have a choice to make." Pushing his chair back, he stands, "It is no secret that we have all become fond of Lady Marian. That has become clear over the course of a mere few days. And I don't think there is one of us here, who would wish her poor fortune." Across the table, Merlin can see Gwaine glance at a few of the others, probably wondering if this is going to lead to a marriage announcement by the sounds of it. "But she has been handed a difficult lot in life. With a big heart and an ideal outlook, she wants only what is best for that of young King Leofrick, the kingdom he is to inherit, and the people within it. And she calls upon us now for our aid. You as well as I know that Mercia is far from idyllic by anyone's standards, and that is mostly due to the man currently occupying the throne; he subjects his citizens to his greed and gluttony, leaving them to starve in poverty or be executed in defiance. I should have recognized this long ago. I should have learned more about the man I pursued as an ally long before we came here. And for that, I apologize to all of you."

"An apology is not necessary, sire," Elyan says. "You were trying to secure peace, not only for Camelot, but the people of Mercia as well."

Arthur shakes his head, "A mistake, however good intentioned, is still a mistake." He pauses, then motions to Elyan, "However you bring me to my next point: I still desire an allegiance with the good people of Mercia. And right now they are under attack from within the heart of their own kingdom. Now I have given my word to Marian that I will fight to protect them. As their loyal ally bound beneath a treaty of spirit and grace." Arthur looks into the faces of his men, "But this is where I need to hear your decision. Tell me this is unwise, tell me this is beyond our reach and I will get on my horse and return with you all to Camelot tonight. We will fight for the people of Mercia from the comfort of our own beds, sending shipments of provisions to disburse to the people from time to time in order to prevent starvation. And war will only come if Vaisey declares it. Or..." he says, "Tell me these people are worth fighting for, tell me there are people outside of Camelot whose lives are worth our sweat and blood, tell me we can put our prosperity to good use and better the world around us. Do this and we will not only strive to keep them from death, but we will strive to _ensure_ that they are given life. You know what I would choose," Arthur motions around him, "but I sit not at the head of the table, above you all, looking for appeasement. You are my knights for a reason, and I sit humbly at your feet, looking for guidance."

Glancing around him, Merlin is taken back to the first meeting of the round table, but instead of a dusty castle in ruins, they sit in a dilapidated tavern that creaks with uncertainty beneath their feet. And so many important faces that once gathered with them are now missing. He knows Arthur sees that too; for he bows his head slightly, lowering his gaze as his forehead creases, not between his eyebrows where it usually does when he is cross, but at his temples where the strength in his resolve wanes, however briefly, with sadness. Soon all of the knights' eyes fall to the table, and for Merlin, the silence serves as tribute to their fallen friend, Lancelot, who would have been the first to speak up.

The sound of wood scraping against the floor turns all focus to Elyan, who scoots his chair out to stand, "Upon being knighted, we pledged ourselves to protect the innocent and punish the guilty. I intend to uphold my vow."

"As do I," says Leon, getting to his feet. Percival stands as well, giving a nod in agreement, followed shortly by Gwaine.

"Only because I need a challenge," he says with a small grin that surprisingly brings out a mirrored expression on Arthur's face.

The king looks down at Merlin, "Doing this again, are we?"

"As I'm not a knight, I have made no such vow," he says then adds, "But perhaps if you said you still _needed_ me..."

Arthur stares straight ahead, clearly amused and ruffled all at once, "I would never say that, Merlin." He folds his arms across his chest, "However, I will say this...whether you realize it or not, you _are_ a knight of Camelot. And always have been." The touching sentiment lasts only a moment before he adds, "Just simply lacking the prestige and chainmail...and bravery, combat skills, and general competence of warfare for that matter."

Despite the insult, Merlin finds himself laughing lightly, even more so when he sees the smile grow on his king's face. With a jerk of his head, Arthur encourages Merlin to stand, which he does, winning him a congratulatory pat on the back from Leon beside him. Percival reaches across Leon to slap Merlin's chest, while Elyan offers brief applause and Gwaine raises his mug of mead.

"It wouldn't be the same without you, Sir Merlin."

Arthur scrunches his face at the formal address, and holds out a steadying hand toward Gwaine, "Let's leave the title at rest for now." The men laugh. There is no less danger, no clear solution on the horizon, and certainly no guarantee that they will be successful in however they choose to dethrone Vaisey, but with everything out in the open air, and all the men backing their king without reservation, there is a calm that pacifies the raging winds around them. Like the individual spokes of a wheel, though the road ahead is surely bumpy, they can rest easy with the knowledge that the strength of the hub they create together will keep them rolling.

"I've had a few thoughts," says Arthur, resuming his seat at the table, his ease allowing him to enjoy his first taste of mead for the night. "Now this is not going to be an assassination. I will not shed blood and hand out death where it can be avoided..."

The knights and Merlin sit back down as well, their postures more relaxed and their tankards draining more quickly. But with the pressure in the room now lifted, something else of equal weight draws Merlin's attention to the door. A presence unseen, like a shadow in the dark – indiscernible, but radiating with an unmistakable aura. Glancing around the table, Arthur and the knights have already begun to discuss the possible details of their new mission. Clearly enthralled by their king's words, Merlin takes this opportunity to direct his gaze towards the door again, remembering how he could hear the voices of his friends through it when they first arrived.

"_A__ó__n fu__â__ime._.." he whispers, sealing the door from prying ears; his face burns red hot when Arthur suddenly looks at him.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"No, I definitely heard you say something."

"I...just..." Merlin shrugs, lifting his drink, "burped. Sorry, they sometimes come out rather eloquent." There is a long moment where Arthur studies him with a twisted expression; possibly disgust by the curl in his lip or disbelief by the dull, vacant stare in his eyes, either way Merlin is sure there is an air of annoyance in there as well. He smiles with a little laugh and another shrug.

Arthur slowly turns his attention back to his men, "As I was saying...if we can get Lord Vaisey alone then we might be able to force his hand..."

Leaning back in his chair, Merlin's heart gradually begins to slow. He takes a sip of his mead and glances toward the door, which looks no different after casting the spell, and yet somehow feels thicker, more secure. More than that, however, the haunting force that seemed to have been hovering just outside has dissipated. He furrows his brow. Surely its sudden absence is not a result of the enchantment. Regardless, Merlin tries his best to focus on what Arthur is saying, having already missed a significant portion of his presentation, but every now and then he finds his eyes drifting back to the door, wondering if they are alone.

* * *

The woods have never sounded so quiet. Waiting inside the vacant hovel, Sir Guy manages to find a few idle tapers, lighting them to illuminate the small dwelling; the air is so still he can hear the soft flicker and crack of the flame against its wick. Not even the hoot of a distant owl or the rustling of a few nocturnal vermin disturb the night's silence, and he wonders, looking around at the various poppets, poultices, vials, and herbs, if the creatures of the forest sense a predator. The only other times the woods become so hushed are when a bear or pack of wolves prowl the area. Admittedly, the threat that nests within this hut, however, is a menace far beyond that of a few petty beasts.

A crooked grin rises on Sir Guy's lips at the very thought of being in alignment with such an influence. But it vanishes as quickly as it came when the door clatters open behind him and a petite blonde crosses through the threshold. Unsheathing his sword, he thrusts his arm out, pointing the tip of his blade in her direction.

"Who are you?" he demands, taking a step closer. "Identify yourself."

Turning to face him, the young woman pulls her necklace out from its hiding place within her bodice; the jade stone swaying slowly as it dangles in the air in front of him. She pulls the necklace over her head, her soft, innocent features becoming sharp and sullen as the chain passes over them. Her pin-straight wisps of blonde hair morph into dark ratty curls and gnarled locks of raven. And it is only after she is completely free from the pendant that her gentle blue eyes burn a deep green. Guy can do nothing but stare, looking her over as she stretches to her true height to finish off her transformation.

"Morgana..." he breathes.

"Who else would it be?" she asks, gathering the necklace into the palm of her hand, "I was the one who summoned you here, after all." She tosses him the necklace, which he catches with ease. The gem burns against his fingers, but not unbearably so.

He furrows his brow, "It's hot."

"Smoldering with the life force of the girl I slaughtered to achieve my disguise," she smiles, taking a seat in her armchair, "Don't look so grievous, Sir Guy. I made sure her death was not proven to be fruitless. It was very useful indeed."

"I always suspected you were not one to be wasteful," he says, setting the pendent down on a credenza housing dozens of other presumably enchanted items, none of which he dares to touch. "What bounty were you able to harvest this time?"

"Validation."

Cocking an eyebrow with uncertainty, Guy paces closer, "My Lady?"

"Validation for my impatience," she says, the spark of mischief in her eyes dimming with festering animosity. "We were too slow and now Arthur has learned the truth."

"How is that possible?"

Gripping the arms of her chair, she leans forward, poised to spring out of her seat, but stays where she is, "His weasel of a servant followed you here. Heard every word we said regarding the demise of his precious king."

"You should not have played coy!" Sir Guy spits out as he makes quick strides towards the door, "Enough time has been wasted. I will send a squad out immediately to retrieve them before they can reach the border." His feet suddenly snap together and he finds that he cannot move no matter how much he wishes it; his arms and feet bound by an invisible rope. "Do not use your sorcery on me. Release me!" Gritting his teeth, he is powerless to her will; forced to spin on his heels and face her where she now stands in the middle of the hovel, her fist raised in front of her, undoubtedly wielding the binds that hold him.

"No need to be so hasty," she says, beckoning him closer with a finger. His feet move obediently toward her. "The men of Camelot have no intention of leaving."

"I do not anticipate a surrender," he comes to a stop directly in front of her, "so why do they linger?" The feminine fist clenched before him opens, withdrawing a breath of relief from him as the constraints around his body disappear, allowing him to move freely. He squares his shoulders to regain some of his dignity, though his head must remain bowed to avoid colliding with the roof.

"They have been recruited by another movement," says Morgana. "One that will use the steward's ignorance to dethrone him. While I care little for his fate, we both know this will hinder my ascension and thus yours if you still wish to serve by my side."

"Feigning friendship to deliver a deadly blow?" Sir Guy smirks with a shake of his head, "Not as clever a plan as I would expect from the great King Arthur."

"There is nothing great about him. Not as king and not as a warrior. His aversion to gore makes him weak. No, he will only utilize murder as a last resort. Unfortunately I was not able to hear what they propose to do instead." Her gaze drops to the floor. "I fear you are right..." When she lifts it to meet his eyes again, it is as if she is an entirely different person; not physically like when she first entered the hovel, but inside the tides have shifted, reflecting in the pools of emerald that stare up at him. Her voice comes out as a whisper, "I fear Emrys is here. He shields them from harm, yet he does not confront me. If he is to be my doom, why does he not just slay me down now?"

"You ask me to understand the mind of a sorcerer," Sir Guy says, rubbing his forehead before propping a hand up on his hip, "But if you believe he is your doom, then you must also believe he is your destiny. You cannot pick and choose what of the prophecy is true, Morgana. It is either entirely true or complete nonsense. And if you believe it to be true then perhaps it is simply not your time. Perhaps you have a part yet to play in this world, and he is trying to guide you there."

Morgana recoils from him, a sneer forming over her lips, "How dare you make him out to be a man of benevolence and me a puppet of his good will!"

"I was offering the insight _you_ asked for," a small scowl creeps up onto his own face. "Do not call upon my counsel again if you do not wish to receive it." She turns to pace away, but he reaches out to snatch her arm, stopping her and forcing her gaze to return to him. "Take offense if you like, but regardless of his motive, we ought to take solace in that fact that while he is busy defending your brother, he cannot simultaneously carry out an attack on you." There is a long pause as her sharp eyes examine him closely, as if looking for something specific, but Guy cannot tell what it is. "What?"

"You have begun to show an increasing amount of concern for me, Sir Guy," she says.

Diverting his gaze out her window, he drawls with disinterest, "I am no expert in the conduct of friendship, but is that not what two cohorts do?" His skin crawls with discomfort, and before he can be forced to endure the subject for any longer, he tries to move on, bringing his attention back to Morgana, who now carries an amused expression. He glances away again to stymie his growing irritation, "We do not know the plot Camelot's king has in store for us, but do we at least know the individual who recruited him in the first place? Is it Hood?"

"I'm afraid not," her tone is especially captivating, causing a crease to form in the middle of his brow as he waits for her to continue. "Oh Guy...your loyalties are about to be tested."

While her face has grown long, he cannot be sure of her sincerity, which only sets him further on edge, "Who is it then?"

She strolls away from him, her footsteps so slow, so graceful, it appears as if she is floating across the floor of the hovel; her feet and countenance too lofty to be trapped in the confines of this filthy dirt pit. "They will have to be dealt with immediately. Do you understand that?"

"Give me. The name, Morgana."

She turns to him, the candlelight barely reaching her in the darkest end of the room, but its flame gleams against the intensity of her gaze. "I think you already know. Can you not feel it?"

In several large strides, he is in front of her; the speed of his approach causing Morgana to bump back against the table behind her. She leans back to create more space between them, but he grabs onto the rafter above their heads and bends down toward her, their lips a breath apart, his stare drilling into hers. "Don't. Toy with me. Who is it!?"

There is another pause before her mouth finally parts, "Marian."

* * *

Her voice drifts through the quiet night air, whispering his name, and drawing his eyes up the main stairs and over to the loggia where she leans out from one of the stone arches, smiling when their eyes meet. With nothing more than an expectant raise of her eyebrows as an invitation, she ducks back into the shadows of the gallery to wait.

"Arthur," another, far less tempting, voice says. "Have you been listening to a thing I've been saying?" Arthur looks to his side to find an exasperated servant staring at him.

"No, of course not," he says, handing Merlin the reins of his horse. "Here. Ready my chambers for bed, I'll be there shortly."

"It's almost midnight." It is a statement, but Arthur knows it is more than that. It is a protest. But rather than come out and say it...

"You're being obvious again," Arthur says, dusting himself off and straightening his hair.

"You're being cryptic again," Merlin retorts back, frowning as he looks at Arthur's hair. "What are you doing? Are you...grooming?"

"Merlin," Gwaine says, coming up beside them with his own horse in tow, "Don't you know it's bad form to occupy a man while a woman awaits?" He nods towards the entrance to the loggia where Marian has come to stand, her gown shining a richer hue of blue in the moon's glow. Gwaine winks at her with a wave, a sly grin forming on his lips as he looks pointedly at Arthur. "Am I right, your majesty?"

"It's not like that," Arthur says.

Gwaine's smile only grows, "Not like what? I haven't implied a thing...Merlin, have I implied anything to the king?"

Merlin waves at Marian as well, "No...I don't believe you have."

"Obviously something has put him on the defensive."

"I'm not defensive," Arthur says. "I just know what you are thinking and you're wrong."

"Is that right, eh? What am I thinking then?" Gwaine asks, propping an arm up to lean against his horse. There is not enough time for him to answer before Merlin chimes in.

"But he's grooming..." Merlin shifts his focus from Gwaine to Arthur, "You're grooming. I can't recall the last time you did that without wanting to impress someone, sire."

Arthur holds up a hand to stop them, it is clear the excitement of the night has pushed their cheekiness beyond the norm, and Arthur is not about to let them give him the brunt of it, "Could you both just do me a favor and shut up?"

The three stand in silence a moment before Merlin murmurs to Gwaine out of the side of his mouth, "You see what I have to put up with?" Gwaine gives a rueful shake of his head.

The king narrows his eyes, "Merlin, I'm standing right here. I can hear you."

"I didn't say anything, sire."

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Arthur throws a hand out towards the other knights, who are escorting their steads to the stables, "Just...settle your horses in and get to bed, hmm?"

"Both of us?" Merlin suddenly smiles, then adds, "So you won't be _needing_ me after all." He exchanges a glance with Gwaine that is full of too much mischief for Arthur's liking.

"My room won't ready itself, Merlin."

"But you said to house the horses and go to bed."

"I was talking to Gwaine."

"I don't think so," says Merlin. "I specifically heard you say _horses_. Plural. Which means you were talking to both of us, which means you don't _need_ me. Hmm?" The pointed look Merlin gives him makes Gwaine smile broadly. The knight tries to turn his head before Arthur can see, but he is too late. Arthur scrunches his face at the pair, glancing between them. "You don't..._need_ me?" Merlin makes it a question this time as his eyebrows shoot up to meet his hairline.

"What on earth is wrong with you two?" He props his hands on his hips, but neither of them offer an answer. Gwaine is staring at Merlin, and Merlin is staring at Arthur, who is becoming more irritated by their nonsense with every passing second. "Merlin," Arthur says slowly, making sure his servant can understand his every syllable without mistake, "I don't know what you're playing at, but, y_es_, I _do_ need you. So if you'd just-"

"There!" Merlin shouts with elation. "He said it!" Gwaine groans at his triumph, running a hand down his face before turning to dig into his bag. Merlin continues to laugh victoriously, gladly accepting a few coins from the knight's purse, all the while Arthur stares at them, nonplussed, watching them amuse themselves at his expense. Merlin points an excited finger in Arthur's face with another hardy laugh, "I knew you would say it eventually, sire! There's just no denying it." Arthur snatches Merlin's outstretched finger in his fist, immediately stifling his servant's glee and wiping the smile from his face with the imminent threat.

"Merlin...are you _trying_ to make me hurt you?" he asks, his face deadpan.

"No, sire," he says, "I would actually rather prefer it if you didn't."

"Hmm, well...I'm going to go talk to Marian now," Arthur bends Merlin's finger back just enough to make his servant's eyes grow into saucers, "but make me part of a bet or point in my face again, and you'll lose a finger. Do I make myself clear?" Arthur releases his grip and pats Merlin's cheek with a sudden smile. He makes for the stairs and the waiting Marian, but behind him he hears his two friends carry on.

Gwaine whispers, "So that's what a riled king looks like, eh? Fun."

"I almost lost a finger."

"Ah, but he needs you. And that's all that really matters, innit?"

Arthur shakes his head, quickly scaling the steps to meet Marian at the top. She leans against the archway with her arms folded lightly over her chest.

"Are your men in need of a firm hand?" she asks in amusement, obviously having been witness to the entire scene just now.

"From time to time," he says, "Especially after they've had a few drinks. Although...with those two, I can never quite tell if it's the mead or simply their moronic tendencies coming out." Arthur smiles as he approaches her, finding relief from the tiresome day within her company, "I thought you would have already retired for the night."

"And miss your homecoming? I couldn't possibly," she says, turning to walk side by side into the gallery with him. "My curiosity would have refuted any attempt at sleep." The corridor is long and dark, amplifying their quieted voices and ringing with each and every one of their footsteps.

"I take it you will be staying here tonight then?" he says, "If not, I'd be happy to escort you back to Knighton Hall."

"How very kind of you, but I thought you'd have learned by now," says Marian, "I'm in no need of a knight in shining armor's protection." She crosses in front of him, bringing them to a stop in the middle of the deserted terrace to look out over the courtyard and gardens.

He comes to stand with her, their ceased steps allowing the noiseless calm of the night to fully envelop them, leaving only the chirping crickets to serenade them, "Mine's not all that shining. You should see the state of it since Merlin's been gone."

She smiles, shifting to lean her back against the stone railing and look up at him, "You must be glad to have him back."

"Don't tell him," he says, resting his hands on the stone still warm from the day's heat, peering out to where he can just barely see the knights' retreating backs; Gwaine's smooth strut gliding beside the buoyant spring in Merlin's gait. "He's already smug enough as it is, he has no right to be any more so." He leans back in, turning to face Marian, "Nor do you, by the way."

"Me? What have I to be smug about?"

"You...have the irritating ability of often times being right."

"Despite your hesitation," she says, "I am going to choose to take that as a compliment."

"You aren't always," he quickly adds, making sure to keep her in check, "But...particularly today...you may have been right concerning a thing or two." He diverts his gaze down to his sleeves, which he unrolls to keep his hands busy.

"_May_ have been?" she asks innocently enough, though her straight face holds a gleam of satisfaction in the eyes.

"Were," he corrects begrudgingly, "You _were_ right. About most things in fact. I simply didn't listen. Thought it would be easier not to..." He sees she is already smiling, "And there it is...that smugness I warned you against."

"I'm sorry. Shall we take a short trip into the infirmary?" She asks, nodding her head down the hallway, "Such a confession must be causing you such pain."

He cocks a small grin of his own, "Funnily enough, just knowing I have someone with your astute intuition on my side is a sufficient remedy."

His words, which he intended to be kind, only make her frown, "Arthur...you must know, I did not wish for my concerns to end up correct. I found myself actually hoping I had misjudged Lord Vaisey. That he was a better man than I had originally determined him to be. I just...I didn't want to be right. About Robin, perhaps, but never about the steward's plans for you."

"I know," says Arthur, checking the hallway to make sure they are still alone before continuing, "And he will be dealt with accordingly. My men and I have already come up with a few options which might prove to be effective in wiping clean the corruption he has allowed to spread." He stops. The lustrous sheen of hope in her eyes stilling his breath long enough to enjoy the sight of her ardor before he must continue, "But as for Hood..."

"What about him?" And, as he suspected, the lights dim at his reluctance.

"I still cannot trust him, Marian."

"Can't you?" she asks, "Or are you simply choosing not to?"

"I'm not sure it's always a matter of choice."

"All I am saying," she says, glancing over her shoulder before she steps in closer, "is before you toss away a useful ally, be sure it is being done out of careful discernment and not vengeful discrimination. Whatever you and your men choose to do, you will need all the help you can get to secure your return to Camelot with your lives. I am not asking you to be friends, I am simply suggesting that a common enemy will be more easily defeated if you two set aside your competing prides and work together."

"A man can have two enemies. Sharing one of them with the other doesn't constitute a decent character on their behalf." Arthur shakes his head. "I admit...I realize he has good ideas, I do, but he has a pompous attitude and reckless execution that endangers more people than is necessary. I will not put my men at risk like that, and I am surprised you would want me to."

"I don't," she says, furrowing her brow. "Your knights have shown me great kindness in our short amount of time together, and I would wish them no harm. I am only trying to help by pointing out what can possibly be used to your benefit. Robin knows these towns and this forest better than anyone. You cannot tell me that would not be of use to you."

"Marian..." Arthur rubs his forehead, finding his head suffers from a dull throb whenever Hood is in discussion. Which seems to be more and more lately. He starts to turn towards the window again, hoping a bit of fresh air will distract him from the topic, but Marian catches him by his arm, forcing him to look at her.

"Did you not just say that I am insufferably right most of the time? What about now? What if I am right about this and you refuse to listen?"

He studies her earnest face a moment before shrugging with a sigh, "The truth is...I honestly don't even know what you see in him that you must defend so endlessly."

"I see the same qualities I see in you," says Marian. She slides her hand down his arm to clutch his large, calloused hand in between both of her gentle ones, "A man of action, guided by your gentle heart to uphold the morals you hold so dear; you do not sit by and let people suffer, but show a resilient strength for justice and mercy, which you will fight to gain for those you love and those you do not even know." Her visage remains strong, but the flutter of her eyes betray the sheepishness she feels in bestowing such kind words. "All the while you nurture an uncommon humility for someone of your renown, but with the infuriating capability to be consumed and contradicted by your stubborn pride. It is as if you two are cut from the same fabric and yet I must fight tooth and nail to defend Robin's accusations against you, and yours against Robin. I grow weary of it, and I am finished with it...But if nothing else, do me one favor and tell me this: how can two men of such greatness be stuck in the mire of such childish resentment?"

It is high praise and a wrenching insult, all at once, that Arthur struggles to grasp for several moments. He searches her face, hoping he will somehow be able to draw out the wisdom she seems to have in overabundance to give a reply worthy of all she has said. But the earnest passion riddled within her eyes, forces him to lower his gaze to their hands; he brings up his free one to rest it lightly over hers, both pairs of hands now combined in a perfect mass of woven fingers. He finally speaks.

"Every time I see him...all I can think about are the wrongs I have committed against you."

"You are guilty of nothing, Arthur," Marian says, and he cannot hide from her; her petite stature making it all too easy for her to look up into his face. "I wish you would let me tell him that."

Arthur meets her eyes, "I thought you said you were done in matters concerning us."

She stares at him before giving a resolute nod, "I am. Of course, I am. So...I suppose you'll have handle this yourself. However you choose." He resists a smile; her devotion always driving her into the thick of battles and arguments is an endearment he does not take for granted, and one he enjoys watching her unleash against her own attempts at self-restraint.

"I gave Robin my word I would meet him in Locksley tomorrow," Arthur says. "And while the entire deal seems a bit pointless now given...recent developments, I will go with an open mind and leave my – how did you say it? – 'infuriating pride' behind."

"_Stubborn_ pride, actually," says Marian, "which can _be_ infuriating. I think that's what I said."

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitches upwards, "Ah, yes. How could I forget such poetry? But I think I prefer the other bits you said about me. You said them so well...what were they?"

She shakes her head, "If you think I am going to repeat them to satisfy your hunger for praise..."

"They were such lovely words, though."

"Then you had better do your best to recall them yourself," she says as she pushes their interlaced hands against his chest to give him a scolding nudge. "But right now, rather than hear you compliment yourself, I would be so very grateful if you told me, instead, the details of what I have stayed up so late to hear."

"Ah yes, I wondered when you would prompt me for more."

"Well...patience is a virtue," she says with a smile, then adds as an afterthought, "Apparently."

Arthur raises his eyebrows, "I see...getting lessons on that as well as restraint, are you? Sir Guy must be-"

"Must be what?" A smooth, but heavy voice interrupts, descending like the thick morning fog and shattering their night of solitude.

* * *

"Sir Guy!" Marian says, clearly surprised, though the way the two separate like the splintering wood off a door being kicked in is already telling of their shock. Looking between them, Guy's belly burns with a heat he is sure could produce fire if he opens his mouth to release it. As much as he would like to believe they were using their time together solely to conspire against the steward as Morgana warned him, he cannot fool even himself into ignoring their closeness, the fondness in Marian's eyes. He does not have to see blatant affection to know it is there.

While they both make an effort to maintain a composed exterior, Marian is slightly more successful with her chin held high and her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Beside her, however, the hypocrite who sets Guy's teeth on edge upon the very sight of him stands with his hands on his hips, looking at him with wide, expectant eyes.

Guy looks at her from beneath his lowered brow as he takes a few steps closer, "Marian, it's late. You should not be out here. With him. What are you doing?"

Arthur leads with a gesture of his hand as he also steps in closer, "We were just-"

"Do not speak for her!" Guy lashes out sharply, snatching the front of Arthur's tunic, but before either of them can make another move, Marian has one hand on Guy's chest and the other on her conspirator's arm, staying his clenched fist. Guy wishes desperately she would release Arthur so he can let it fly, freeing up the validation he needs to strike Camelot's ruler and feel his fair skin break beneath the fury his knuckles.

"No!" Marian pushes them further apart. She stands firmly between them, but stays facing Sir Guy, who resents that even his raging pulse is unable to diminish the beautiful purity of her pale features beneath the night's radiance. "We were talking, Guy. We are allowed to talk, but _you_ are not allowed to treat our guest in such a manner of disrespect!"

"His conduct toward you has been lacking in propriety since he first arrived!"

The king's face contorts, his posture bristling with offense, "I have _never_ -"

Marian interrupts him before he can get any farther, her focus remaining on Sir Guy, "You concern yourself with matters that are no business of yours. If you have only come to scold us for wrongdoings based purely on speculation then I do not wish to hear what you have to say. If, however, you have come with another agenda, then I am more than willing to listen. Which is it?"

Guy glowers, his entire body rigid with pent up wrath that cannot be unleashed, so much so, he can barely part his lips to mutter words. "King Leofrick is calling for you."

"I am not his caretaker tonight. Delia is supposed to be-"

"You will deny him then? Refuse to soothe his fright so you might comfort another?" He asks, his accusatory eyes snapping to the blonde warrior behind her. Camelot's king stares at him with an intensity Guy has not yet seen from him, the resemblance he has with his sister becoming all too clear as he sets his jaw firmly in place, the muscles rippling beneath the surface, and all emotions they struggle to detain escaping through the transparency of his eyes. He has seen it all before, but instead on a face of feminine allure.

"There is no need to be hostile, Sir Guy," Marian says, resting a hand on his arm. Her gentle touch, the melody in her voice, keeping the savage beast prowling within him at bay. "And while I do not appreciate your insinuations, I will grant your request and the request of the king." She glances over her shoulder to Arthur before meeting Guy's eyes, "Would you like to escort me there now?"

Motioning a hand out in front of him, Sir Guy gestures for her to lead the way, but she links her arm in his, and he suspects it is to prevent him from being left behind with the king for even the shortest amount of time. Wise.

"I will take that as my leave then," says Arthur. "I wish you both a restful night. Marian..." He gives a nod in departure, hesitating, before offering another, "Sir Guy..." His eyes, cold and calculating, meet Guy's one last time, and there is something there in the king's expression that almost amuses the man standing victoriously at Marian's side. A threat, perhaps? Silent, but clear.

The farther he and Marian get from Camelot's high ruler, the more Guy can feel his anger giving way and being replaced by a tightening in his chest; his palms grow clammy and he becomes increasingly aware of what lays hidden deep within the pocket of his jacket, resting heavily against his ribs like a block of ice, it's potent chill stinging harshly against his skin.

"Sir Guy..." Marian's voice interrupts his thoughts. They had remained quiet up until this point. "Are you alright?" She asks. She slows their pace as they round a corner, looking up at him with concern. His movements feel disjointed, and he is sure she can see every bead of sweat forming along his brow. "Guy," she says again, more urgently, "If something's wrong, you must tell me."

Swallowing hard, he checks their surroundings for any unwanted witnesses, "Marian...do not think poorly of me."

She frowns, "Poorly? Why would -" Her voice fades from him, he pushes it out of his mind, not able to stand the sound of her dulcet tones, not now, not when he knows what he must do.

He lowers his gaze and reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, casually at first, then with a sudden fervor, ripping the handkerchief free – its stale and bitter scent now loose in the open air – before smothering it over her nose and mouth as he captures her tightly around the waist with her back against his chest. Beneath his palm, he can feel her lips moving, struggling to cry out.

She struggles wildly against him; clawing at his hands and arms in a frenzy. Nothing he hasn't dealt with before from the desperate escape attempts of local peasants unwilling to surrender, but it is when she gathers herself that his defenses begin to falter. Reaching up to grab a fistful of his hair, she yanks his head painfully to the side and stomps on his foot before knocking the rag from his hand and pivoting to swing her elbow into his jaw. The pain radiates up the side of his face with a blinding light and a shout. She grabs the lapels of his jacket, making it impossible for him to shrink away from the bludgeoning of her knee being thrust repeatedly up into his gut, but Guy manages to grab her leg, sweeping it out from under her, and flinging her to the floor to land flat on her back.

Grabbing the discarded rag off the floor, he advances on her, but she is too quick. She stomps her foot out at his groin, sending him reeling backwards with another shout that harbors more rage than it does pain, though there are surely equal amounts of both. In his moment of weakness, she scrambles to her feet, and hikes up her mass of skirts, to deliver a resounding kick to the side of his head. The sharp edge of her heel collides with the vulnerable flesh of his temple, sending him sprawling.

Guy's vision flashes white. A high-pitched buzz forming from the recesses of his mind, growing stronger and louder, making it more difficult to orient himself. He is only vaguely aware of the hard brick beneath his palms and cheek as he lies on the floor of the corridor. With a shake of his head, he forces himself to get up, the world around him teetering, and his feet struggle to grab hold.

A blur knocks into his shoulder, thrusting him back against the wall, and it is only when he realizes it is Marian that his determination and adrenaline snap his perceptions back into focus. "Marian!" He rushes after her as she tries to flee down the hall, though her graceful movements have been compromised by the effects of the chloroform, causing her, too, to stumble and weave. She is too fast for him. Just as she is about to round a corner and slip out of sight, Guy watches as Marian skids to a stop. Emerging from the very hall she hoped to find her escape, is the dark silhouette of Morgana. In no rush, and not in the least bit flustered, the High Priestess comes to hold her stance strongly before her. She offers a sardonic smile.

"Marian...I had hoped we would have a more pleasant reunion," she says, glancing down the hall and drawing Guy closer with her gaze. She returns her focus to the woman in front of her, "It's funny, isn't it? I once thought we would make great partners."

"I won't let you hurt him, Morgana."

"No?" Her face twists with scorn. "Then _stop_ me." She throws her hand forward, her eyes blazing with fire as Marian is flung from her feet and tossed carelessly down the gallery. Guy ducks out of the way, a knot forming at the very center of his being when there is a thud. All goes quiet.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, Guy turns to see the carnage. Lifeless in the middle of the hallway, Marian lies with her legs curled awkwardly beneath her, her arms flayed out at her sides, and her hair, in disarray, concealing most of her face. Sir Guy hurries to her side, taking a knee to inspect her more closely. He brushes a few curls from her face, allowing the backs of his fingers to caress her cheek as he does so. She is fair as ever, and if he has to guess, he would say this is how she appears when sound asleep in her own bed. The rhythmic clack of Morgana's footsteps draws Guy's attention behind him to where she approaches.

"Pity. She could have been useful," she says. "If only she had not succumbed to the lure of my dear brother's pious ways..."

Guy sets his jaw at the mere mention of him, silently working on gathering Marian into his arms; he slips one hand gently beneath her head, but before he can get any farther, Morgana is suddenly kneeling at his side.

"You did the right thing, Sir Guy," she rests a hand on his shoulder. "Everything must be done to ensure Arthur does not succeed. Nothing will be in vain. He has already taken everything from me, and if we are not careful, he will do the same to you. Truth be told..." Morgana reaches down to set another one of Marian's curls into its proper place, "I suspect he has already begun to steal from you something that is quite precious indeed."

A moment of silence is all it takes for the knot in his chest to tighten until it is intolerable. He shakes his head, "No...he can take nothing from me." He meets Morgana's eyes, "She has made her choice and I have made mine."

"Well, then..." she smiles, standing, the black feathers of her cloak dancing in the light draft that circulates the corridor. "Let's get to work, shall we?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It is morning. The clatter of hooves against the cobblestone slices through the crisp air of the courtyard as Arthur and his men prepare their horses, sleep still apparent on some of their faces. It is a funny thing, these early rises. No matter how many times the king and his knights must wake to greet the dawn, they can never easily depart from the warm embrace of their beds, yet at the same time, they dare not waste away any new day given to them. The number of sunrises they have left to witness is not written in stone, and while sleeping beneath the same roof as a jewel-toothed sadist it all seems so much more uncertain. Arthur checks the front stairs of the castle, as if the mere thought of Lord Vaisey will have caused him to materialize, but there is no sign of him. Hardly disappointing. Still, of those milling about the square there is someone of particular importance missing, and her absence is considerably more unfortunate.

"I told you, little man," Percival's voice draws Arthur's attention, "I don't know where yours is, but you try to take mine again and I'll skin _you_." The sleeveless knight towers over Gwaine as he takes the full waterskin from his friend's grasp to secure it back onto his saddle.

"Why is it I'm always to blame for things being misplaced?" Gwaine asks. "Maybe that one is mine and you misplaced yours."

After all their time together, an unspoken morning time etiquette has developed among the knights, and if not heeded, they all know the day ahead is bound to be miserable. It is common knowledge that Gwaine is usually his sassiest after just waking, which requires delicate handling if one is to avoid the hot-headed aftereffects of any offense he takes, and unfortunately, Percival prefers to simply be left alone until he has had time to soak in the peace of the morning which he then uses to transcend the rest of his day. It has been proven time and again that tranquility and guff do not play nice together. One wrong interaction between these two, and they are both insufferable.

"Are you sure you didn't leave it in your room?" Elyan asks, trying to divert Gwaine's attention and give Percival the space he requires. At least someone remembers the etiquette. Then again, Elyan can always be counted on to mediate and lift the spirits of those around him no matter the time of day. It is a miracle the way he seems to wake with a hope and lie down to rest with the same unwavering optimism. There is a calm that he creates which is so similar to the one that Gwen achieved merely by entering a room. It is as if they are pillars, holding up a crumbling roof, and allowing those trapped beneath it more room to breathe.

"We're all grown men here," says Leon, the resolute voice of reason. "Let's not embarrass ourselves by acting otherwise." Possibly the one that needs the least maintenance of them all, Leon requires very little in the morning aside from a hot drink and a douse of water to the face. "Take mine for now." He holds out his own bladder by the neck, but Gwaine waves it off.

"It's not a matter of necessity, it's a matter of property," he throws an accusatory glance Percival's way, this morning's brooding ripe with the lack of sleep Arthur knows Gwaine sacrificed to stand guard at his door half the night.

"Gwaine..." Arthur tries to interject, but he only manages to make his attempted contributions known to the two knights not in need of composure.

It is clear Percival's patience is growing thin as he turns to his friend, "It's going to be a matter of health if you don't drop it."

The side of Gwaine's mouth curves upward in a bitter smile, "I'd like to see that." He snatches the waterskin from Percival's saddle, "Look. Red threading...like mine. Cracked cork...like mine."

As the nettled knight continues to demonstrate the finer points of the bladder, Arthur makes his way around his steed to better join the group, drawing his sword as he goes. He tries his best to stop it, but he feels his lips giving way to a smile. "Gwaine..." he repeats, catching his attention this time. Using the tip of his blade, Arthur pushes the folds of Gwaine's cloak aside to reveal his hip where an identical, albeit seemingly empty, waterskin already hangs from his belt. All eyes fall to it, producing smiles from some, snickers from many, and a shameful sigh from one.

Percival's smile is the largest. "I'll just be taking _this _then_,_" he says, reclaiming what it rightfully his and basking in a satisfied drink from it.

"I swear it wasn't there before," says Gwaine, ripping it from his belt in annoyance.

Elyan nods, thoughtfully, "A gnome must have planted it on you while you weren't looking."

Putting his weapon back in its sheath, Arthur notices Gwaine watching him, most likely trying to avoid the taunts of his comrades, but he cannot let him off so easily. The king grasps his friend's shoulder, talking to him carefully as one would to a child, "Don't worry, mate, this is _my_ sword. _Yours_ is right _here_...see it?" He pats the hilt of Gwaine's blade, a broad smile on his face.

Gwaine grins with a little laugh, "You're lucky you're royalty." He gives Arthur's face a light slap before turning to Leon, who is in the middle of adjusting his cloak.

Leon pauses, the clasps still in his hands, "I didn't take it from you, I swear."

"Ha ha, yes, let's get it all out now," Gwaine says as he spreads his arms and turns for them all to observe him as a spectacle, "Yes, I am an idiot and, yes, you are all just _so_ hilarious." This ignites a round of laughter that continues though Arthur's falters at the sound of his name being called.

Hope begins to rise when he sees Merlin bounding down the stairs towards him. "Any sign of her?" Arthur asks, moving back around his horse to meet his servant, whose mouth is slack as he huffs for air, shaking his head.

"Nothing," Merlin says, and Arthur's eyes lift to the imposing wall of the castle before them. He scans its windows and terraces as if his brief surveillance will offer more results than the thorough sweep Merlin had given it.

"You're sure you checked everywhere?"

"Every corner, every cranny," he says, propping his hands up on his hips to aid in his breathing. "Some places twice...not intentionally, but-"

"She'd want to be a part of this." Arthur's brow knits tightly together, and he returns his focus to his horse, but he stops as soon as he started, turning to Merlin once more, "And you checked her chambers?"

"Well, I know I don't have your strategic prowess, sire, but believe it or not, I did think to check her personal quarters, yes."

Arthur lets out a breath, his eyes shifting to the loggia where he and Marian spoke just last night, where he and Guy had nearly broken all pretenses to express their dislike for one another, where his own integrity was put into question after being treated unjustly like "the other man" – as some might choose to call such a person. The two of them had done nothing wrong, it was a simple misunderstanding, and yet the look on Sir Guy's face is not one Arthur will easily be able to forget. There was a moment of stoic calm before the rage of jealousy and fury at her perceived infidelity took hold. Perhaps it looked similar to his own expression that night in Camelot's counsel chambers all those months ago.

Just as Arthur is about to return his attention to his servant, he is surprised to find that, this time, his thoughts have successfully summoned the man in question, and Sir Guy strides out from within the castle as two guards hoist open the heavy wooden doors for him. He stops at the top of the stairs, surveying the knights, though he pretends not to notice Arthur looking back at him, instead busying himself with fitting his black leather gloves over his hands.

"Arthur?" Merlin asks with concern.

"Continue the preparation," says Arthur, "I'll only be a moment." He starts across the square, his boots creating a dull thud with every step, a thud Guy must have taken notice of because as Arthur ascends the stairs to meet him, the man in black does not even lift his gaze before addressing him.

"Are you sure it's wise for you and your men to be dressed in all your glory?" Guy's cold, apathetic eyes finally meet Arthur's. "It makes an easier target of you all."

Arthur offers a tentative smile, "I thought that would be to your advantage after last night."

"Is that supposed to be clever?"

"No..." Arthur's face falls, the need to be congenial not pressing enough to warrant another attempt at being lighthearted. "It's supposed to be a lead into an apology." There is no response, only a slight lift in Guy's left eyebrow. "I fear you may have gotten the wrong idea about what you saw."

Folding his arms across his chest, the man in black takes to surveying the courtyard again, "And what is your remorse for? For my lack of discernment in the situation or for having to make excuses for your untoward behavior? Either way, you'd be controverting your responsibility in the matter and therefore I am not interested in what it is you have to say, your majesty. But if you would, I have business to attend to, and your men seem eager to set their sights on Locksley." He glances over Arthur's head, then adds before leaving, "Besides...the time for words is over."

Sir Guy's shoulders hunch up toward his ears with an overabundance of tension as he leaves Arthur in his wake, motioning for a few guards to follow after him as he disappears into the very gallery the king had been eying earlier, no longer a secluded place for two friends to trade thoughts in the dead of the night, but a heavily traveled passageway brimming with servants and soldiers anxious to fulfill their daily duties.

It is not often Arthur is brushed off so coldly, like a fly swatted from an unwelcoming shoulder. He stands alone on the top step, a bit unsure of what to do after such an encounter, though he finds himself going over all of Guy's words with a whole new insight. Not long ago he thought the man merely despised him, but now, knowing all that has come to light, each word that slips from his mouth seems more ominous. More calculated. _The time for words is over. _Somehow that last statement seemed to stretch beyond the confines of their personal vendettas to encompass a much larger realm; one that will be dealt with soon enough.

With nothing left to do but turn back to his men, Arthur is surprised to find that they have been joined by a guest; a reprieve among the ill-mannered that stalks them, and a ray of much needed light amidst the gloom that surrounds them. At the foreground of the mass of knights and saddled horses is Merlin, crouching down in front of Leo, who must have arrived while Arthur was momentarily detained. The small king prances in place with great excitement, his hands cupping something being handed gingerly over to him.

"What have you got there?" Arthur asks Leofrick as he approaches them.

Merlin glances at the castle before looking up at him, "That wasn't very long-lived, was it?"

"He wasn't feeling especially chatty today."

"Strange," says Merlin, "He's usually so jovial."

Arthur cracks a smile with a chuckle, but before he can respond Leo juts his clasped hands up towards him, "It's a secret!"

"Ah, is it now?" Arthur stoops down to join his two friends in their little meeting, his cloak puddling around his feet until his boots can no longer be seen. "Well, I just happen to be quite the skilled...uh, secret keeper," he says, unable to think of a better title for it.

"Since when?" Merlin asks with a puzzled look on his face.

"Since always, Merlin, shut up," Arthur says, glancing at Leofrick to make sure his heroic reputation had not been shattered by one contradiction, but the little boy stands patiently with his hands folded out in front of him, protecting the treasure within.

"It's magic..." Leo whispers, his eyes wide with excitement as he divulges the news. Raising his eyebrows, Arthur glances at Merlin before returning his attention to Leo, who slowly opens his hands.

"Is that..." Arthur furrows his brow, "...a biscuit?" He was hoping for something that holds more intrigue than a dainty dessert, but he feels Merlin backhand his arm lightly.

"Quite the miracle, eh?" The look in his servant's eyes silently encourage him to show more enthusiasm as the merriment on little Leo's face is slowly fading; his gaze falling to the cookie and his lips puffing out into a small pout.

"Oh, yes!" Arthur beams as he starts to play along, "Quite the miracle." The boy's smile returns, and Arthur rests a hand on Merlin's shoulder, "Did you conjure that yourself, Merlin?"

"He did!" Leo shouts, clearly not worried about keeping things under wraps anymore. Merlin shrugs with a bashful smile that almost looks genuine. Should have known he'd be gifted at children's games.

"All this time, Merlin? And here I thought you always took the time to bake my desserts with your loving hands," Arthur gives a nod to motivate his friend. "Go on then, I need to see this for myself. Care to conjure another?"

Merlin hisses with a grimace, "Ooh, sorry, sire...I'm afraid such magic cannot be called upon at will and can only be produced for those of worth who do not ask for it."

While the rules of such magic brings a delighted giggle from Leofrick, who starts eating away at his treat, Arthur scrunches his face at the spouted rubbish. Even imaginary sorcery proves to be a nuisance against him.

"Right, how foolish of me to assume otherwise," Arthur says.

"But remember," Merlin speaks softly to Leo, holding a finger up to his lips. The hush-hush of it all stunning Leo, who freezes in place, allowing several crumbs to fall from his mouth. "This is our secret. Don't go telling your handlers that I've been stuffing you full of treats so early in the morning."

The little king shakes his head vigorously to show his dedication to the promise, withdrawing a nod of gratitude from Merlin. Arthur, however, perks up when something dawns on him.

"Handler..." he murmurs before shifting to face Leofrick better. "Leo, you wouldn't happen to know where Lady Marian is, would you?" The boy shakes his head, though with much less intensity. "You haven't seen her since last night?"

"Dinner," he says, smacking his lips that are littered with leftover morsels of cookie and powdered sugar.

Arthur furrows his brow, "You...haven't seen her since dinner yesterday?" Another head shake. "But you called for her late in the night. Did she ever come to your room?" Leofrick says nothing, only stares at him with a face full of confusion.

"Arthur...I don't think he knows anything about that," says Merlin.

"I was sleeping," Leo offers, though it is of minimal help. Arthur nods, trying to make sense of things. There are any number of explanations. It is possible Leofrick did, in fact, have a nightmare, but by the time Marian got to him, he had already fallen back asleep. And perhaps given the fact that she was not needed, she decided to return to Knighton Hall for the night after all. Arthur knows the worry one must endure with an ailing parent, and the constant impulse that keeps you wanting to be at their side as much as possible.

He glances over his shoulder to the archway through which Sir Guy disappeared, sure that the man in black would have some sort of answer, being perhaps the last one to see her, but given the events of the previous evening, all inquiries as to Marian's whereabouts are best left unspoken.

"Well, your majesty," Arthur says to Leo, "my men and I should be off, but I trust you will be practicing your swordsmanship while we're gone?" Leofrick nods with a large smile, and Arthur ruffles his head of curls, "Good. Now I think someone is waiting on you..." He points toward the fragile young ginger waiting at the side of the square, her eyes snapping to her feet when she accidentally meets Arthur's gaze. He wonders briefly if that is Delia, the caretaker Marian referred to before.

As the little king departs, Arthur and Merlin stand to their full height, stretching out their legs. Merlin is already looking at Arthur, apparently expecting instructions before his king has even eluded to having any for him.

"Merlin, I want you and Sir Leon to go to Knighton. See if Marian is there, and if she is, bring her to Locksley."

"What if she isn't?" Merlin asks.

"Come to Locksley just the two of you," he says, "you're not getting out of this that easily."

"Do I ever?" he turns to seek out Leon, but Arthur takes a step after him.

"Merlin," he waits until he has his servant's attention before jerking a thumb towards the departing king of Mercia and his maidservant. "That biscuit..." he says with a less than impressed shrug, "you nicked it from the kitchens during your search, didn't you?"

"No, sire," says Merlin, "Haven't you figured it out yet? I _am_ a sorcerer."

Arthur lets out a snort at the very idea, "Honestly, Merlin, the day you don't need a snack break in the middle of every task I give you will be a true day of remembrance. Let's strive for that day, shall we?" He turns to his men, who have all begun to mount their horses. There is not always a need to call them to their saddles; sometimes instincts kicks in, the air shifts, and they all simply know: Time to go.

They are a flurry of crimson and sheen as their capes sail behind them and their armor reflects the rising sun, galloping through the city of Nottingham, drawing the awe of those lucky to be up early enough to witness their parade as it careens through the streets. Keeping formation, they do not break from their tight cluster until they are beyond the town gates, entering into the freedom of the lush fields and towering forests ahead, Merlin and Leon splitting off like a rogue flare from the mother flame, setting their sights on Knighton.

* * *

"You seem pleased, Merlin," says Leon as the two trot along the Great North Road, the trees of the forest around them stretching up so high they seem to wane beneath the weight of their leaves, and lean toward the opposing side to create a tunnel, shielding the two riders from the sun, which only intensifies with every passing moment.

Pleased? Oh, of course. It is then that the young warlock realizes he has been smiling. He can't be sure how long the grin has been plastered to his face, but there is no denying that he is pleased, indeed. Just like the trees, Merlin has been bearing his own weight, and it has left him struggling to stand tall for so long, but today he was able to lighten the load that plagues him. Even if only for a moment. The words always sat at the very tip of his tongue, crouched and poised to pounce out from behind his teeth, only to be bitten back for his sake, for the sake of Arthur, but today...today he let them fly._ I am a sorcerer. _And it has made for a good day.

Of course Leofrick was the only one to believe him, he would expect nothing less, but that did not diminish the full effects of his blatant confession. Like a bird jumping into flight, a drowning soul breaking through the water's surface for a breath of air, Merlin is feeling alive.

"I just have a good feeling about today," he says.

"Do you?" Leon lets out a little laugh, "That's quite a swap, isn't it? You are generally so cautious, but today I think the lads and I are more weary than you apparently are."

"I just think we're headed in the right direction," says Merlin. "Arthur isn't being rash, he's admitted his misjudgment, he has a plan, and he's giving Hood a chance."

"You trust him then. Hood?"

"I take it you still don't?"

Sir Leon seems to think this over, leaving them both to ride in silence for a few paces, "I admit, I would like to, but the stain of bad blood does not easily wash away."

"Do you know anything about it?" Merlin asks. He is sure if anyone on the outside will know anything about the wedge that has divided these two men, it would be Leon. Raised as a nobleman, Leon's family brought him up from a young age to be a knight of Camelot, and he has no doubt that they also endeavored to befriend the Pendragons, not just with the intent of advancing their family, but also out of pure loyalty, the same which has been demonstrated through Leon's very own service to the throne. "Do you know what happened?"

"I have only pieces of the story," he says, the words making Merlin's heart race with anticipation, "Unfortunately the mortar that fills the gaps is made up of nothing more than rumors, and I dare not give them credibility."

"No...no..." Merlin agrees thoughtfully with a distant voice, his eyes wandering to the right where the trees break open to reveal the first bunch of thatch roofs that make up the borders of Knighton. "But...based on what you _do_ know for certain, are there any theories that can be postulated?" He tries to keep his words relaxed, not wanting to stifle Leon's information by showing his eagerness for some tidbit that might help him understand.

"Well," Leon pauses to think, the nonchalance in Merlin's poise loosening the knight's tongue, "I suppose it might have something to do with Marian. The three of them were quite close as children." Merlin bites down on his lower lip, wanting to ask questions to press him further, but he waits patiently as he sees more words forming behind Leon's eyes. "And, as you may know, the two were promised for marriage at a very young age."

Merlin stares at him, "...Arthur and Marian?"

"Ah, so you didn't know," Leon nods, "King Uther and King Bayard thought their union would also unite their kingdoms on a more permanent basis. Obviously the deal did not stand."

"Do you know why?"

"That is where the rumors come in," says Leon, slowing the gait of his horse as they approach the edge of town, Merlin's follows suit, "I am not sure anyone knows the real reason apart from those directly involved, and none of them seem to be bursting with a desire to set the record straight. At any rate, it is none of our business."

Perhaps not, but that has never stopped Merlin before.

The young warlock follows Leon as he snakes his way through the huts where citizens are busy toiling away in their gardens or chicken coops, or are fast at work over their chosen craft; an elderly woman looks up at them from her seat outside her home where she sits weaving a basket. Some of the reeds are carefully interlaced already to show the form of her basket's base, while other long, wild reeds shoot out from the lacing, yet to be tamed by her nimble fingers. Merlin offers a timid "good morning" before pressing on toward what he can only assume is Knighton Hall, a rather large estate in comparison that sits tucked away near the forest's edge.

"Let us hope she is here," says Leon as he kicks his feet from his stirrups and dismounts, "There is no telling what the others will encounter today, and I will want to be at their side when they face it." Merlin must hurry to keep up with the knight, hopping down from his saddle and running to catch him as he approaches the front door. A hardy knock. Then silence. No answer. They exchange glances before Leon raises his fist to attempt another go at it. Nothing.

Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin notices that anyone within distance is watching them. He is used to being on the coattail of a man worthy of attention, but this time the faces do not reflect awe as they often times do, but there is another emotion consuming their features. What is it? Merlin's eyes flit from person to person as an unaware Leon brushes by him to look in the front window. None of the villagers move, even their hands are stilled as their attentions are rapt by them. The woman no longer weaves, though a reed remains poised in her grasp. She gives the smallest shake of her head, causing Merlin's brow to knit together.

Suddenly he is being pushed out of the way. "Stand clear, Merlin," Leon says with a tone that is no longer casual, but brimming with the intensity the knights were trained to perform with. Throwing his shoulder into the door, it easily gives way beneath Leon's large stature – too easily – causing the knight to stumble across the threshold. This latch has been broken before. Merlin following close behind, but not before taking one last look at the old woman, still as ever.

"My lord!?" Leon calls out from inside, "Lady Marian!?"

Inside, Leon has already vacated the main room to investigate the adjoining one, leaving Merlin to soak in the scene before him. It is nothing of shock as he had expected, but he knows what has alarmed the knight. A bowl of breakfast porridge sits abandoned at the table, the chair at its place-setting has been knocked from its feet, leaving it to lay haphazardly on its side, one of the back spindles cracked in half. Beside it on the floor is a wooden spoon. Bits of the stew still cradled in the head of the utensil, though other bits are splattered on the ground nearby. The taper that lit the morning meal is short. It still burns, though the brass holder is concealed almost entirely by melted wax that has spilled over and cooled, with little left to hold the wick. The flame flickers. A small wisp of grey smoke rising from it. It will not be able to sustain much longer.

The weight returns. Merlin can feel it bearing down on him, his mind becoming muddled like an open window slowly becoming veiled in cobwebs until the fresh breeze and clarity of the sunlight cannot permeate its fibers Something is wrong. Not just in circumstance, but in the very air around them. He can feel it.

"Merlin," Leon says as he strides quickly back into the room to meet him, "Check the upstairs, would you?" He disappears through another door, leaving Merlin to follow the line of the bannister and look towards the second floor.

As soon as he steps through the door at the top, he knows he is standing in Lady Marian's room. Several vases of flowers scatter the room, and Merlin can't help but wonder if they are a product of someone's insistent affections, or merely a result of her love for the outdoors. Either seems possible, though he cannot imagine her going out of her way to pick flowers for the sole benefit of her room's décor. But he soon realizes that perhaps they serve an entirely different purpose. Their scent is strong, filling most of the room with the sweet floral aroma, but there is something else that joins it. Something he has smelled before; bitter, earthy, and though he can't quite place it, he can only think of Gaius.

Merlin furrows his brow when the old physician's face comes to mind. It seems an arbitrary image to have stirred up by such a scent. He takes several more steps into the room, already certain that there is no one here, but his focus is now not on what is missing, but what lingers behind.

A hutch stands in the corner of the room with a particularly large vase sitting on top of it; the doors are a dark cherry with intricate designs engraved on the front. It is locked. Merlin frowns. Had it been unlocked, he might have easily lost interest, but there is an inexplicable rise in curiosity knowing that someone – in this case Marian – wants to keep what is hidden behind these doors a secret. He raises a hand, only to have it falter briefly as he wonders if this intrusion is against the average code of friendship. Clearing his throat, he glances toward the door before setting his gaze on the lock of the hutch again, "_Tospringe_..." Click. The doors sway open a crack.

Swinging them on their hinges, Merlin exposes the shelves inside and all they contain. It becomes quite clear why Gaius came to mind as he stares at various vials, bottles, boxes, pouches, and poultices that are usually littered about Gaius's clinic on a daily basis. And the smell! All at once, his nose is assaulted by peppermint, fluxweed, goosegrass, rose oil, honeywater, vinegar, lavender, and a dozen other aromas – though he cannot tell what he was able to determine purely by smell and what he imagined due to seeing the labels on the containers before him. It should be no surprise, since she has, after all, taken on the practice of medicine. But then why hide it? Why lock it away?

Amidst the glasses, a small, crude wooden box sits near the front of the hutch, and though he can't quite explain it, it captures his attention, calling to him like a pestering itch. He checks over his shoulder again. Sir Leon must still be busy scouring the first floor. Or so Merlin hopes. Lifting the lid from the base of the box, he pulls back a small piece of burlap to reveal a set of bangles; each one made of two silver rims that don't quite touch to prevent them from creating a full circle, laced together with a myriad of complex scrolls and leaves of gems between them. Opposite the gap in the bracelet is a single black diamond. They were beautiful. But hardly medicinal like everything else in this cabinet.

The longer he stares at the pair, the more they begin to trouble him. And what is troublesome is the effect they seem to have on him. He is a simple man of few desires, but the more he looks at the jewelry in front of him, the more it calls to him. No, it doesn't call. It _sings_. In his mind he can hear it; a high, melodious ring, like if the echo of silver tapping against a crystal goblet had a voice. Magnificent. His hand hovers just above them, and he is not sure when he started to reach for them. He had not even noticed his own hand move. Not felt it. He only felt _them_. The bangles. His fingertips start to lower towards them.

"Merlin!" Sir Leon's voice shatters the sorcerer's trance as definitively as a rock through a pane of glass. Merlin quickly shuts the cabinet, cutting off the music from his head, and turns just as the knight runs into the room. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"I...no," he says, deciding to keep it simple. He preferred not to admit he had been too enraptured by a piece of jewelry to notice.

"We have a guest," Leon says, quickly shutting the door.

"Marian?"

Leon furrows his brow at him, but rather than give into snark as Merlin suspects he would like to, he restrains himself better than Arthur ever could, "Unfortunately, no."

Before Merlin can even ask who it is, an unmistakable voice can be heard from between the cracks in the slats of the door. "Ah, yes...I've come to see everything is easier without the peskiness of people around to hinder my progress."

Vaisey.

"You know what it is I seek," he says. "Find it!" Bangs and clangs immediately follow his orders. The place is being ransacked. But for what?

"The window," Leon whispers, nodding his head toward it. "Quickly." As Merlin shifts away from the door, the floor creaks beneath them. A lump drops to the very pit of Merlin's stomach, and the two men freeze, looking at one another with wide eyes. There is a beat. Then...

"Upstairs!" They hear a voice shout.

"Go!" Leon says, drawing his sword and shoving Merlin towards the other side of the room. Merlin stumbles, but catches himself on the windowsill, throwing the shutters open, and slipping out onto the sloped roof. Back inside, he sees Leon shoving a chair against the door before running towards him, "I said _go_!"

Grabbing onto the edge of a crossbeam, Merlin swings himself down, dropping to the ground below. He immediately looks back up to the roof line, waiting for Sir Leon to follow. Nothing. A resounding crash sounds from within the room, and Merlin knows the barricade did not hold.

Leon's head appears over the side. "Make for the woods!" he shouts hastily, and then he is gone. Merlin loses sight of him as he ducks back into the house. Metal clashes.

"Leon!" He has to get back up there. Jumping, he manages to grab hold of the support beam, but not sooner does he grab it than he feels a sharp pain in the back of his calf, withdrawing a cry from him as he's pulled back to meet the hard earth below. He is only vaguely aware of the arrow sticking out of his leg when he rolls over to find a Nottingham guard pointing another at him.

Time slows. The soldier releases the bow string. "_Dul am__á__ch_," he breathes and the arrow, a mere breath away from his face, suddenly redirects and whizzes past him to lodge itself into the side of the house. He thrusts his hand out towards the baffled guard, "_For__þ__ fleoge_!" Knocking the man off his feet, his body flies back through the air, smashing against the trunk of a tree, and crumpling motionless at its base. Leaves rain down around him in a gentle shower.

The clash of metal continues to ring above him. Leon. Merlin must contort in order to reach down and around to his leg, bracing himself as he breaks off most of the arrow's shaft, leaving the head embedded in his flesh. It will have to do for now. He tosses the tail aside and scrambles to his feet, his injured leg initially buckling beneath his weight, but he grits his teeth and forces it to stand. Just as he is able to gain a proper footing, he stops. There is the scraping of blades against one another, followed by a sharp ring, a few thumps, then silence. A chill runs down Merlin's spine.

Although lacking the agility of the elderly weaver's fingers, Merlin manages to jump, grabbing hold of the low-hanging beam, and flails his legs as he swings himself back onto the roof as he had attempted earlier. He instinctively glances behind him, not wanting another arrow to find a home in a more fatal spot on his body. But no one pursues him. Without a sound, he scoots to the side of the window, sitting with his back against the wall.

"-will not be appreciative of such hostility." It is Leon speaking. Merlin allows himself to breathe, finding much relief in hearing his friend's voice..

"Hmm, true, yes..." says Vaisey, his words dripping with arrogance. "Ah, but then again, I get the feeling he may not care this time."

"Then you do not know my King."

"Not as well as you do, I'm sure," he says, "But I am quite familiar with dead men, and a dead man does not care about...well...anything."

No. There is the sound of a struggle. Leon's loyalty paired with his fire getting the best of him, but it is quickly abated, and silence falls once more. Merlin decides to risk it; he shifts just enough to peer into the room. Vaisey stands in front of Leon, who has a guard on either side of him, twisting his arms painfully to keep him on his knees. Two other guards stand by the door. In Vaisey's filthy hands rests the nondescript box from Marian's cabinet – the one Merlin failed to lock back up once his curiosity had been satisfied. Merlin furrows his brow, but more important than the box is the expression on Vaisey's face. It may be smug, but it is not one of victory. No. Arthur is still alive.

"Ooh, tsk tsk, control that rage," Vaisey says. "Your obsession is admirable, but...wait...oh, no...no, I take that back. Sorry, it's _pathetic_! Why you are all obsessed with him is beyond me. If you want someone to obsess over, I'm a far better catch."

"You are wrong. He is the greatest king Camelot has ever known."

"Hmm, 'known'...I like the past tense of that word," Vaisey smiles, his entire scalp sliding backwards on his skull as the wrinkles in his forehead smooth with glee. "Fitting."

Merlin cannot sit by any longer. If Arthur isn't already dead, he could be well on his way. The young warlock shifts as gingerly as possible, while still maintaining speed, to move along the roof line toward the front of the house. Below, three more guards stand watch, oblivious to the loss of their comrade, whose body lies just around the corner.

Think. Think. One wrong move and he will die. Or worse, Leon will die. Possibly worst of all, one wrong move and his secret will be out. The never ending consequences of that are too much to stomach. Merlin clenches his teeth with a grimace, his plight seemingly manifesting itself into a sharp pain that radiates out from the broken shaft of the arrow in his leg. He writhes a moment, gripping his knee and letting the severity pass before trying to formulate a pl-

"There!"

Merlin suddenly flattens himself against the wall of the house as an arrow flies past him. He scurries back along the roof line, and out of their sight, his heart sinking when he gets to Marian's window. The room is empty. Through her bedroom door, he can see the back of a guard's head as he descends down the stairs with the others. Merlin quickly grabs the joist and swings to the ground, landing in a lamenting heap as his body continues to wilt. His pulse beats so loudly against his eardrums, that he can barely hear all of Lord Vaisey's words as he shouts into the open air from the front of the house.

"Servant! – fools! – get him!" Another voice follows after it.

"Run, Merlin!" Leon shouts, his voice strained, but Merlin cannot leave his friend. He runs around the side of the house, ignoring the pain that explodes up his left leg with every step. "Get to Arthur!" Merlin skids to a stop at the last set of orders. The words resonating as his head throbs. His heart races. It pounds. His head spins like a roulette wheel, where each spoke harnesses a priority, but only one can be chosen in the end. Pain. Arthur. Leon. Duty. Arthur. Destiny. Pain. Destiny. Arthur...Arthur!

Merlin ducks as a guard slips around the corner and fires an arrow. Twisting on his heels, the young warlock sprints toward the cover of the trees as fast as his weakened legs will take him. Arrows rain around him. He hisses as one scrapes the outside of his shoulder. There are too many. His energy too little. His magic won't be of much use for long. Behind him, the cries of Sir Leon, the stalwart knight, rise into the sky. And the weight is unbearable now. Fate is taunting him. Destiny bends his branches near the breaking point. It is too much. All that is at stake. All the choices he must make. All the sacrifices he must allow...


End file.
